


Where the Heart Is

by KouriArashi



Series: The Sum of Its Parts [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Family, Hale Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Multi, Open Relationships, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Alpha Pack, Werewolf Hunters, unavoidable original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody is more surprised than Derek when Cora turns up on his doorstep in Beacon Hills, to warn him about an alpha named Deucalion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cow! It's another installment in TSOIP! How does this keep happening to me?
> 
> I've decided to rate this one as mature rather than teen, specifically because of the involvement of Jennifer Blake. I stand firm by the theory that she had put a spell on Derek in the canon (although I think JD has said she didn't, oh well) and I'm not going to give away details but a similar thing will happen in this fic.
> 
> This picks up almost directly after the end of TTW; only a few weeks have gone by. Also this chapter is mainly set-up, but don't worry, I'll get chapter two up shortly. <3

 

It’s Freshman Orientation at San Jose State, and Stiles is enjoying himself. High school graduation was a few weeks previous, and he’s really looking forward to the coming year. With the exception of Erica, who decided against college, they’ve all been accepted and done their paperwork at various schools around the San Francisco area. Stiles is the only one who hasn’t already visited his college campus. Most of the others had gone around to various schools the previous summer, while he had been stuck at the Conclave. Then there had been another trip just after graduation, but he was still recovering from being shot, and his father hadn’t wanted him on his feet an entire day.

He knows that he’ll be on his own a lot more than he’s used to once school starts, so it’s not a bad idea to go to orientation by himself. Mac is going to San Jose State, too, but she decided to pass on orientation because she had done early registration. So Stiles is here by himself, picking up his class schedule, taking the tour, finding the buildings where his classes are going to be located.

He’s got a fairly bland schedule for his first semester, mostly gen-ed credits, but he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing. It’ll be a good transitional period. He tested out of English 101, so he can skip that little slice of hell. Instead he has geology, computer science, modern history, Spanish, and intro to criminology. The last was technically full, but he had petitioned to be put on the add list, and the professor had recognized his name and let him in. Stiles chats with him for about half an hour after the tour. As happy as he is to have made it into the class, he doesn’t want everyone to know who he is. Doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. He’s jumpy enough as it is. One of the advantages of going to a school like San Jose State is that he’ll just be a face in the crowd. Anonymity will be his shield while he’s off his territory.

He can skip the second half of the tour because he won’t be living on campus. He did get a limited meal plan, since he’ll probably eat lunch at school most days. Their apartment is about half an hour away, and he won’t want to trek home all the time. He can survive school food as long as he can still cook at home.

It would have been nice if the entire pack could have attended the same school, but he knew that was a pipe dream. Lydia has had her heart set on Stanford since she was four, and nobody would be talking her out of it. Boyd really wanted to go to UC East Bay because of their educational program, and he got a full ride there. The others drifted through various options until they had all settled on something. Isaac will join Boyd at East Bay. Danny got a scholarship at Berkeley. Allison and Scott are both going to San Francisco State. And Mac will join Stiles in San Jose. Erica decided college wasn’t for her, and she’s already got some modeling jobs lined up.

They had tried to find some living space that would be at least somewhat central to where everyone was going to be going, and eventually wound up with an apartment – or several, actually – in San Mateo. It’ll be a bit of a hike for some of them, but better than being split up. They’ll get used to it.

It seemed a little extravagant to buy a house that they would only live in for a few years, and to be fair they never would have found one that _really_ suited them. No apartment on the planet would be big enough, and what Derek had eventually set up with the help of a friend of his lawyer’s was renting a block of apartments. They had rented the entire third floor of an apartment building in San Mateo. It’s four apartments, each one-bedroom, and that should give them plenty of space. Stiles suspects that Derek paid several people to move, but hey, whatever works.

So they’ll have enough space, even if some of it is redundant. Derek has already called dibs on the room with the best light for his studio. Lydia decided that the room with the second best light should be their library/study. Another bedroom will be the ‘guest room’, Derek’s quaint euphemism for ‘the room in which people are allowed to have sex’, since they never have guests.

Danny has already said he’ll be able to program the elevator so it won’t be able to stop on the third floor. They can lock the door to the stairwell and just leave the apartment doors open. It isn’t the best solution, but it won’t need to be forever. They’ll have room enough to sleep and do their homework. They don’t really _need_ four kitchens, but then again it won’t hurt to have two. Stiles can use one for all his cooking, and the other can hold a second microwave and toaster, so when he’s in the middle of something but Isaac has a craving for Pop-Tarts, they won’t get in each other’s way.

Stiles never saw the apartment building for the same reason that he hasn’t been to San Jose yet. He goes after orientation is over to check it out. It’s empty, but clean. He spends some time in each kitchen, deciding which one he wants. One of them has a squeaky drawer, and another doesn’t have a garbage disposal.

He stands there a long time, thinking about the future.

He had never planned to stay in Beacon Hills his entire life. He had figured he would grow up, go to college somewhere, find a job, who knew where? But everything’s changed. Even being away from Beacon Hills for a week or two starts to bother him. He remembers vividly how uncomfortable it made him during his semester in Neptune. It’s his territory; he’s tied to it through instincts that he’ll never be able to suppress.

He’s leaving it in good hands. The best hands. And San Francisco is only a couple hours away. They can go home at least one weekend every month.

They can manage four years of college. It’s what’s going to happen after college that worries him.

Some of them will have no problems living in Beacon Hills. Boyd can get a job at one of the three elementary schools. Isaac will take over his father’s cemetery business, and he’s talked some about going into landscaping. Scott will probably work at Deaton’s office until they’re both old and gray (presuming that Deaton ages, which Stiles still isn’t sure of). There aren’t exactly a lot of computer companies in Beacon Hills, but when Stiles mentioned that to Danny and Mac, they just laughed and said it was fine because they would just start their own. Mac does web design and Danny does internet and computer security; they could live anywhere in the world and still do the work.

But what about Lydia, who wants to win a Fields prize? What about Allison, whose archery is good enough to compete internationally? What about Erica, whose modeling jobs will be almost entirely in big cities like Los Angeles?

And what about himself? Beacon Hills is the county seat; that’s why the sheriff’s station is there. But there won’t be a lot of call for a forensics specialist or a profiler. He could commute to Frenso, he supposes. It’s a big city, big enough that they would have that sort of employee, and only about an hour away. People have longer commutes. But he doesn’t like the idea of so much time away from the pack, away from Derek.

After a while, he realizes he’s just standing in the empty apartment, watching the motes of dust in the sunlight. He sighs a little and checks the time on his phone. It’s half past four. He’s supposed to meet Derek before dinner, so he should get moving. Derek’s gallery is in San Francisco proper, and parking there is always a bitch.

He’s only been to Derek’s actual gallery a handful of times, but he loves it. It’s open and bright and there’s amazing artwork on every wall. Derek glances up as Stiles comes in, and smiles at him. “Hey, how was orientation?” he asks.

“It was fun,” Stiles says. “Campus is huge; I’m really going to get my exercise. And the apartment’s nice. Are you hungry? I want noodles.”

“I have to finish up with some numbers,” Derek says.

“Okay, I’ll hang out,” Stiles says. He sees most of Derek’s art before it departs for the gallery, but it’s always fun to look at. Derek is sitting with his gallery manager, going through sheets of numbers, so it could be a while. Stiles is content to wander.

There’s another couple looking around, and about fifteen minutes later, the door jingles and a young woman comes in. Stiles glances at her but doesn’t really take interest. She’s pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way, probably in her mid to late twenties, wearing a neat blouse and skirt. She looks at some of the paintings, and she seems nervous. Then she looks over at Derek, and Stiles can hear her sharp intake of breath from across the gallery. There’s a moment of hesitation before she walks over to him and says hesitantly, “I . . . you’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?”

Derek glances up, his face that of polite neutrality, and Stiles has a momentary surge of pride for how non-snarly his lupa has become. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“Oh my God, I just,” she says, and laughs nervously. “I love your work. So much. I think it’s fantastic.”

Now Derek’s face creases into that honest smile which is so rarely directed at anyone outside the pack. “Thanks,” he says.

“Oh, I’m Jennifer,” she says, extending a hand. “Jennifer Blake. And, um, this is going to be incredibly embarrassing, but . . . I’m pretty sure you saved my life. I had . . . some really bad experiences a few years back. I thought a few times about . . . giving up, you know? But then I saw one of your paintings, _From the Ashes_ , you know the one I mean, of course you do, you’re the artist . . .”

Stiles knows it, too. It was one of Derek’s first big sellers, and the raw, real emotion in it had captured a lot of attention. It’s a picture of the old Hale house, burned down and decrepit, and Derek is sitting in the ashes, naked and practically skeletal. But Stiles is standing in front of him, extending a hand out to him, and Derek is taking it. It’s done in profile and neither of their faces is really visible, but what’s happening is clear to anyone who knows them. Stiles vividly remembers the first time he saw the finished work, and how he had cried for hours, both for what Derek had lost and what he had gained. It’s easy for him to see how that painting could touch somebody so deeply.

“Anyway, it just . . . it made me realize that I could keep going, that I should stand up and . . . anyway, I can’t believe you’re actually here, I mean, I just stopped in and here you are!”

“I come down about once a month just to make sure everything’s displayed the way I like it,” Derek says.

“The gallery’s on my way home from work, so I stop by in the evenings sometimes,” she explains. “It’s just particularly funny because this is the last time I’ll be able to come. I’m moving next week, and I probably won’t be able to come here again.”

Derek’s smile is still surprisingly warm. Stiles supposes that everyone loves being gushed over. “Where are you moving to?”

“Oh, it’s a little town east of here, Oakhurst.”

“That’s not too far from where I live,” Derek says.

Jennifer goes pink again. “I’m not a crazy stalker, I swear,” she says. “I had no idea you would be here. I just figured I would stop in and actually _buy_ something for once, instead of just mooning around over it.”

“Well, you can have whatever you want,” Derek tells her.

“Noooooo,” she says, and laughs again, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t have anywhere near enough money to afford anything but something small.”

“I’m serious,” Derek says. “Pick something out.”

“I couldn’t . . . why don’t you pick something out for me?” she asks. “I mean, pick out something that means something to _you_.”

Derek smiles a little more, and Stiles finds himself inexplicably jealous. He wants to hiss and spit and he’s not even sure why. Derek just doesn’t _smile_ at people that way. He should be happy that Derek is learning to have social interactions like a normal person, but his instinctive, gut reaction, is to walk over and tell her to keep her paws off. Which is even more ridiculous because she hasn’t even _touched_ Derek, beyond shaking his hand.

“Okay,” Derek says. He looks around, his gaze skimming the gallery. He walks over to one of his paintings that’s at the smaller end of normal. Stiles approves; trying to give her something huge would only make her more embarrassed about however little money she has. She had probably been planning to buy a print or something.

The picture he chooses is that of a set of wolves: two adults and four cubs. Stiles knows that the adults are Derek’s parents and the cubs are himself and his siblings. It is, indeed, a painting that means a lot to Derek. He tries to push back his irrational jealousy as Derek takes the price tag off of it and takes it over to the counter.

“I can’t, uhm, I only have twelve hundred dollars,” Jennifer says, cringing.

“What a coincidence; this painting happens to be on sale for exactly eleven ninety-nine,” Derek deadpans, even though Stiles knows it was probably priced somewhere like three times that.

He boxes it up for her and tells her about what sort of light it would look best in and Stiles is pretty sure that the frame was supposed to cost extra and he doesn’t say a word about it. “So, uhm, if I gave you my number, would that be super weird or creep you out or anything, because if so, we can pretend I didn’t say anything about it,” Jennifer says.

“I have no idea how to socialize and I’m absolutely terrible at it,” Derek says, “so how about I give you my number, because you might actually have some idea what to do with it.”

Jennifer turns an even deeper pink, but hands over her phone so Derek can program his number into it. She thanks him about sixteen different times and then departs. Stiles saunters over as Derek sits back down with his numbers. “She seems nice,” he says, careful to stay noncommittal.

“Mm,” Derek agrees. “Well, yeah. I mean, I know you guys all like my work, but it’s nice to meet a fan.”

“Look, uh . . .” Stiles isn’t sure how to approach this issue, but he figures he should do it now, while they’re alone, rather than when the rest of the pack could overhear. “If you decide to, you know . . . scratch an itch with her, I’m totally okay with it. You know that, right?”

Derek glances up, a little surprised, and then he leans over and rubs his cheek against Stiles’ temple. “I’m fine,” he says, “but thanks for thinking of me. Now let me finish this up, and we’ll go get some noodles.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next few weeks fly by. One trip to San Francisco becomes two, then five. There’s a lot that they need to do. The apartment needs furniture. All of them want a chance to plot out the best route between the apartment and their respective colleges. Moving eight teenagers can’t be done in a single day. Hell, between Stiles, Lydia, and Derek, just moving their books will take an entire trip. That’s not even getting into the armory, and the endless debate over what it will be safe and necessary to bring with them. There are, Stiles says, many different men to see about many different ducks.

Not only that, but moving a werewolf pack comes with certain complications. San Francisco doesn’t have a pack of its own. Werewolves tend to avoid cities; they need room to run, particularly during the full moon. So it’s officially unclaimed territory. That doesn’t mean that Stiles can just set up shop there without repercussions. He doesn’t want anyone to think that he’s trying to expand his own territory, so he has to go gladhand the alphas that have the surrounding territories and make nice.

It’s actually an interesting experience. He has something of a reputation, of course, but their pack has been isolationist out of a simple lack of time to be anything else. With some help from the Argents, Danny and Mac have been putting together an app that lists all the different hunters, their territory, their choice of weaponry, whether or not they can be trusted or whether they’ll shoot on sight. Stiles had been so thrilled by that idea that they had started compiling information on different packs, too. It’s not finished yet, but Danny thinks it will be by the end of the summer.

That being said, it’s fun to go meet some of the people that they’ve been researching. There are five or six packs that are close enough to San Francisco that Stiles wants to make nice to so he’s sure he won’t be stepping on anyone’s toes. Most of them seem fairly receptive to this. The one closest is suspicious, but Stiles assures her that this is temporary, only while they’re in college, and she grudgingly accepts this.

But just because there aren’t werewolves in San Francisco doesn’t mean that there aren’t any supernatural creatures at all. Deaton introduces them to Sanjana, the ranking Druid in the city, and they exchange phone numbers. There are two vampire families, but Chris says not to worry about them; they’ve been thoroughly vetted by multiple hunters and ascribe to the supernaturally popular ‘you don’t bother us and we won’t bother you’ theory. (Like werewolves, Derek says, vampires can be either born or made, and families are typically fairly innocuous.)

Then there are the trolls. One on each bridge into the city. They leave mundane travelers alone, but require tolls from any supernatural creature who wants in or out. The entire pack has to visit each one of them so the trolls can learn the ‘sound of their passing’, which apparently has nothing to do with what car they’re in, and provide appropriate payment for a year of coming and going at will. Trolls are gluttons, which means payment has to be in food, which means another incredibly long week for Stiles, cooking everything in sight. It’s an interesting experience, however. Each troll has their own sensibilities; one demands sweets, another rejects everything as tasteless unless it has enough capsaicin in it to knock out a small army, and yet a third seems to relish bones and requires four whole chickens, two whole turkeys, and eight racks of ribs before it declares itself satisfied. Stiles spends an entire day in bed and wonders if they should have just taken the causeway back and forth the entire year. But no, it’s better to be prepared. With his luck, they’d wind up being chased onto a bridge by something else and then eaten.

Of course, Stiles doesn’t go on all the trips. He’s still in recovery, after all. He’s still not entirely sure of how bad his injury was. He knows that he’d probably be dead if he weren’t the alpha, and that he’d had major surgery. He knew that one of his kidneys had been damaged, because he had been on medication and needed regular bloodwork for the first few weeks after he got out of the hospital.

On most days, he feels fine. There’s still some residual soreness now and again from the broken ribs. He gets tired more easily, and he’s not allowed to participate in any strenuous physical activities. No sparring, no lifting. He has to ‘supervise’ while the others carry boxes of books up and down to their new apartment.

There’s also just the general work of being the alpha of a middling to large pack. There’s too many people to have _everyone_ over all the time, so he has to make sure he’s available to everyone and that no one feels left out or neglected. That means he has to keep track of everyone’s schedule, which was a lot easier when school was in session. Boyd is working at the ice rink thirty hours a week to save up some money before school starts. Scott is working at Deaton’s office, Mac has a part-time job doing web design, and Isaac has been trying to work with the manager of his late father’s business. Allison has archery tournaments and Erica has photo shoots for her portfolio. Everyone is busy.

There’s usually three or four people at the den on any given night, and Stiles frankly likes the smaller gatherings because it’s easier to divide his attention up amongst the pack members who are there. It’s also a hell of a lot easier to cook for five people than it is for twelve.

So most evenings are quiet, which is fine by Stiles. This one is particularly quiet, and he’s startled from a half-doze when there’s a knock on the front door. Most of the others have already left for their respective houses. Allison has an archery tournament coming up, so she’s gone home to work out. The others have jobs or family obligations to attend to, parents who want to take them shopping for college stuff, things that need to be packed.

Stiles has actually been spending most of his nights at home lately, because his father is a little more clingy than usual. Given that he’s leaving the nest in a month, coupled with the fact that he’s still physically recovering from having been shot, this surprises nobody. So the den is usually empty come nightfall. Stiles, Derek, Scott, and Isaac are the only ones left at this point. Scott and Isaac are playing video games while Derek sketches in the ‘love pit’ and Stiles leafs through books and thinks about napping. He still gets tired easily.

‘Knock’ is the polite way of putting it. It’s more of a pounding from someone who’s clearly very impatient. Stiles frowns and starts to get to his feet. They don’t keep the electric fence on during the day, while everyone is coming and going, unless there’s trouble in town. But they don’t leave it open, either, so whoever showed up would have had to climb over. It isn’t one of the pack members – they would all just walk right on in, and if the door was locked, everyone has a key.

He’s barely gotten all the way up when Isaac shouts, “I’ll get it,” and comes out of the living room. Stiles sighs. He can’t fault his pack for being a trifle overprotective while he’s recovering, but it _can_ get on his nerves. He decides he doesn’t want to be shuffled aside, and follows Isaac to the door. Of course, Scott and Derek are both immediately on his heels.

Isaac swings the door open just as the young woman there is raising her fist, clearly ready to knock again. She’s medium height for a woman – taller than Lydia but shorter than Allison. Her long brown hair is down around her face, dark eyes intense and worried, and she’s dressed in a sports tank top, jeans, and sneakers. And she’s a werewolf. That much is obvious from her scent; even Stiles can pick up on it. From behind him, he hears Derek’s quick intake of breath, and the girl’s eyes snap over to him. “Derek!”

Derek recoils in sheer surprise, nearly tripping over himself. Under normal circumstances, he would regain any physical loss of equilibrium quickly, but clearly not this time, as he stumbles forward a few steps, clutching at any pack member he can for stability. He sniffs the air a few times in a wolfish but almost timid manner. “Cora?” he asks softly, the name coming out in a strange mixture of wonder and horrified confusion.

“Derek,” she says again, clearly relieved.

Stiles’ head snapped around the instant that Derek had heard his name the first time, and he says, “Derek, you know her?”

“She . . . she’s my sister.” Derek swallows hard. “We . . .” His voice trails off and then he corrects himself, because there is no more ‘we’. “I thought she was dead.” He manages to move forward until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Stiles, but he’s staring wide-eyed at Cora. Isaac, who’s holding the door open, looks from her to Derek, as if he’s seriously considering just closing the door in her face. He doesn’t like seeing Derek this freaked out. He sends a questioning look at Stiles and Scott to get their opinion, but Stiles just gives his head a little shake.

“Yeah, I’m . . . not,” Cora says, shifting from foot to foot.

“Come in,” Stiles says, stepping back a little, gesturing for Scott and Isaac to come with them. Cora hesitates, then steps inside. That seems to trigger something in Derek, who moves forward, hesitantly, like he’s afraid she’ll just disappear. His hand stops short of actually touching her, like he’s waiting for permission.

Cora just stands there, just outside his reach, and the silence lasts a few too many seconds to be comfortable, so Stiles breaks it. “You want something to drink?” he asks Cora.

“Sure, I guess,” she says, folding her arms over her chest, a posture of tight anxiety.

“Come on into the kitchen, then,” Stiles says, but as he turns, he mouths ‘watch her’ to Isaac. As he does, Derek’s hand drops and he moves away from her like he’s been burned. He gravitates immediately towards Stiles instead, while Isaac moves to the side to get out of his way. It gives the teenager a convenient excuse to fall a little behind so he has an easier time keeping an eye on Cora, as they proceed further into the house.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously there are some, um, gaps in what the show presented us with about Cora. I have thus taken a number of dramatic liberties, but her personality here is pretty much the same as her personality in the show (an angry, hissing, spitting cat). More on her back story will be coming up shortly.
> 
> Secondly, obviously I already had an alpha pack in this series, but since Deucalion will be appearing, there's going to be another one! And I just created some new alphas for him, including one who will fill in for Kali in Jennifer's back story. That seemed easier than creating an all-new back story for Jennifer, since my Kali basically had nothing in common with canon!Kali, anyway. Plus I tried to create some actual motivation for Deucalion since, uh, I'm still not actually sure what the hell he was trying to do in the canon.
> 
> (An additional reminder that I went with the easier explanation of born wolves having blue eyes and turned wolves having golden eyes. I'm putting this reminder in because I myself forgot the first time I proofread this.)

 

Cora is still stiff and unfriendly looking as she surreptitiously looks around the house, like she wants to know where all her exits are. “Tea? Lemonade?” Stiles asks, getting a glass out of the cupboard.

“Whatever, lemonade, I guess,” Cora says.

Stiles gets a glass of it for her and sets about making tea for Derek. His hand lingers on Derek’s shoulder for a few moments, giving it a quick, reassuring rub as he walks by to give Cora her drink. Since he clearly isn’t welcome in her personal space, Derek retreats to his spot on the kitchen counter, boosting himself up to sit where he normally does. “Where, where have you been? And why are you only coming back now?”

“I had to run,” she says, not quit looking at them. “A lot happened. I’ve moved around a lot. I thought . . . you were on the run, too. It wouldn’t have been safe to contact you. When I heard there was a pack in Beacon Hills again . . .” For the first time, she shows emotion, her voice becoming briefly choked. “I figured I could finally come see you.”

Derek almost tells her that they ran to New York, where Laura did her best to build a life for him. But somehow telling his sister that seemed cruel. He and Laura had had at least the semblance of normalcy while she had been running. Running for years. Three years longer than she needed to, if all she had been waiting for was a pack in Beacon Hills. Even if she had been paranoid and trying to play it safe, that didn’t account for all that extra time. But he doesn’t say anything about that. “Are you . . . planning to stay?”

“I thought . . .” Cora frowns and looks around a little. “I thought this would be your pack.”

It’s all she says. All she needs to say. Stiles exchanges a glance with Scott and Isaac, but doesn’t step up to proclaim himself the alpha. He’ll wait and see how Derek handles it.

“It is,” Derek says. “I’m the pack’s lupa. We’ve all built this together. By invitation and vote and agreement.”

“But you’re not the alpha,” Cora says flatly.

“Uh . . . no.” Derek glances at Scott and then away. “I gave it a go in the beginning. I’m not really alpha material. Though I’m learning to be a good backup.”

“You’re a great backup,” Stiles says, putting the mug of tea in his hands.

Cora’s eyes go momentarily wide. “Is – is Laura here? Is she – the alpha?”

Derek fumbles the mug of tea, but fortunately Stiles is still holding it, and manages to steady it before it can go everywhere. He sucks in a harsh breath, then takes the mug again, doing better on the second try and desperately needing something to hold. “No. Laura . . . Laura’s gone. She was killed.” He looks down into the mug and concentrates on not clenching his hands hard enough to break it.

Cora looks away. “Oh,” she says. “I . . . I’ve been out of the loop for a while. I didn’t know.”

Stiles leans in to Derek, pressing his weight against the other man’s thigh, giving him the reassurance of presence, if nothing else. Then he says, quietly, “Scott, would you call the others? I think they should head over.” Derek is going to need the comfort of pack tonight, regardless of whatever else happens in the next hour.

“Sure,” Scott says, and pads out of the room.

Derek nods, wondering exactly how far out of the loop she’s been, because it’s been common knowledge in the supernatural world for a while now that Derek is the last Hale. Stiles’ presence as the alpha in Beacon Hills is just as well-known if not more so. “It was three years ago. It just . . . still hurts.”

Cora doesn’t seem to be listening. She’s watching Stiles, the way his hand lingers on Derek’s shoulder, the instructions he gave Scott. “You,” she says. “You’re the alpha.”

Stiles gives her a pleasant smile. “Stiles Stilinski, at your service,” he says.

“He’s way better at it than I am,” Derek adds.

“But you’re . . .” Cora’s face is twisted in confusion and something that’s almost anger. She leans a little closer to Stiles, trying to catch a better grip on his scent without being obvious about it. Then she pulls back. “You’re human.”

Stiles blinks at her, arches his eyebrows, and says, “Yep.” If Cora really wasn’t aware of the presence of a human alpha, he supposes she can be forgiven for not knowing about Laura. ‘Out of the loop’ is something of an understatement.

“Stiles is just special,” Derek says, with a little smirk.

Cora’s just staring at both of them in outright astonishment. “A human can’t be an alpha,” she says.

Stiles holds up his hands. “Okay. Let me play this straight with you, because this is about the umpty-zillionth time I’ve had this particular conversation and I’m a little sick of it, to be honest. Yes, a human can be an alpha.” He looks at her and lets the crimson glow seep into his eyes. “It’s just really, really rare. Because it only happens when a human who is actually bonded into a pack kills the alpha of that pack. Okay?”

Derek watches his sister try to assimilate this and sips his tea. He can tell she’s going to explode. He’s just not sure in what direction. Moments later, Cora’s eyes flare blue. “You killed Laura?”

“What? No!” Derek says, more startled than anything else.

Stiles’ hand clenches into a loose fist, then relaxes, as he fights for control. “No,” he says, in an even, measured voice. “I killed the person who killed Laura.”

Cora’s scowl only lessens a fraction. “Who was that?”

Derek falls silent, and Stiles shoots him a questioning glance, telling him that it’s up to him. He’s not even sure if the real answer is ultimately Peter or Kate. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Just . . . let it lie. It’s been dealt with. Just please let it lie.” He doesn’t want to have to tell her that their sarcastic, funny, intelligent Uncle Peter had lost everything that made them love him and murdered their sister.

“Why didn’t _you_ deal with it?” Cora snarls at him.

“Hey!” Stiles slams his hand down on the counter hard enough to make Cora jump. When she turns that glare on him, he continues, quietly, “That’s my lupa you’re talking to. And I don’t want to hear you talking to him like that again.”

Derek reaches out and curls his hand around Stiles’ wrist, warm and solid. It’s a gesture of appreciation rather than any sort of restraint or reprimand. But he answers Cora’s question anyway. “Because I couldn’t, Cora. I just . . . couldn’t. And it would have left the pack in a continuous state of weakness and fear. Stiles was able to do what I couldn’t for a lot of reasons, and we’re all better for it.”

“But you should be the alpha,” Cora says. “This territory has been in the Hale family hands for centuries. Instead we’ve got, what? Some human kid?”

Derek’s eyebrows climb in that skeptical, judgmental way he has. “Stiles is your age. You can’t really call him a kid unless you want to call yourself one, too. And the property is still mine. The territory wasn’t going to do me any good if I couldn’t defend it, and I couldn’t. One omega couldn’t hold it. Stiles _does_ hold it. He’s held it two and a half years now. I’d rather that. And since I thought I was the only living Hale until twenty minutes ago, I had the right to make that choice.”

Cora’s eyes flash, but there’s more pain and grief in them than anger. “Jesus,” she says, voice choked. “This isn’t what I came back for.”

Stiles’ eyes flare crimson again and he turns to face her. “I said, don’t talk to him like that.”

“Oh, you wanna go?” Cora asks, reaching out with one hand to shove him backwards.

Derek is off the counter and has her spun around, an arm around her waist and up off her feet before she can connect. He put all of his werewolf enhanced speed into the motion to beat Isaac there, seeing the dangerous look on the beta’s face, and the tea mug smashes on the floor. “Don’t touch him,” he growls.

“Put me down, asshole,” she snarls back, trying to squirm free.

“Not until you agree to keep your distance from him.” Derek shifts his grip so he’s got a handful of her jeans as well. If she wants to get free, she’ll have to either flip herself upside down or go into a full shift. “Because you’re _damned_ lucky that I’m the one that grabbed you. You think one of the enforcers would have been this gentle?” His words are coming through grit teeth right by her ear.

Cora keeps struggling, but directs her next comments at Stiles. “So you need someone to handle things for you, can’t protect yourself – ”

Stiles just looks at her and says, “The role of the alpha is to protect the pack, and the role of the pack is to protect the alpha.”

“Don’t you _dare_ quote pack protocol at me, you – ”

“Why not? I seem to understand it better than you.” Stiles shakes his head a little. “Put her down, Derek. If she comes at me again, I’ll be ready.”

Derek looks between the two of them. “Stiles,” he says tightly, “I don’t want either of you hurt.”

Stiles sighs. “Okay,” he says, “why don’t you two go out somewhere? This reunion is pretty . . . emotional, for obvious reasons. I think it’d help to put a little distance between your sister and . . . the things here that have disappointed her.”

Derek nods. “Okay.” He eases his sister down but doesn’t let go of her. “Where do you want to go?” he asks her.

After a moment, Cora huffs out a sigh. “Just . . . around the woods, I guess. I need to talk to you in private anyway.”

“Okay,” Derek says, and starts to steer her towards the door. He stops by Stiles, although he’s careful to keep himself in between them. He reaches for Stiles’ hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “I’ll keep my phone on,” he adds, and Stiles gives a nod, and then Derek hustles Cora out the door. They cross the front of the property. He’s about to open the panel of the fence that swings out, but Cora’s already jumping up to grab the third wire and pull herself up. Derek gives a little sigh and climbs up after her.

They walk for a few minutes in silence. Behind them, he hears the hum of the fence start up again. They’ve rearmed it. It’s fine; he has his remote, but the only reason Stiles would have done that was if he was alone in the house. Derek darts a glance behind him. He doesn’t see anyone, but he knows Scott and Isaac are there. He gives them a quick, approving nod, both at their decision to keep tabs on him and Cora, and their stealth in doing so. He doesn’t like Stiles being left alone when he’s still physically weak, but the property’s security measures will keep him safe enough, and the rest of the pack is on their way.

“It’s not that . . . I didn’t want to see you,” Cora finally says, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I did. But it wasn’t safe.”

“Why not?” Derek looks over at her, studying her. She’s changed so much from the little girl he knew. “Did you even know where Laura and I were? What we were doing?”

“Not really,” Cora says. “I just . . . figured you were running, like I was. There were always hunters. They could have followed me to you. I didn’t want to bring danger to your door.”

Derek thinks about mentioning the local branch of the Argent family and the standing truce, even alliance, not to mention that Allison is one of the founding members of the pack. Then he decides that this might not be exactly the right moment. Instead, he gives her a small nod. “I appreciate that.”

“But now . . . look, there’s someone coming after you guys, okay? Someone dangerous.” Her lip curls a little. “I had to come back and tell you.”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “Dangerous how? Who is it?” He tilts his head a little to look at her. “And how did you find out?”

“I’ve had . . . dealings with them, it’s not important.” Cora lets out a breath. “It’s an alpha pack.”

“It’s not important? Did you get hit on the head?” Derek asks, using the ‘big brother’ voice without thinking about whether or not it would be a good idea. Then the rest of it sinks in. “An alpha pack? Really?”

Cora nods. “Yeah. There are five or six of them, and they’re . . . pretty brutal.”

“Do you have any names?” Derek asks. He doesn’t sound particularly worried.

“The leader is Deucalion. I don’t know any of the others.”

“Huh.” Derek’s eyebrows scrunch a little. “So just _an_ alpha pack, not _the_ alpha pack. Any idea what they want?”

Cora’s giving him a sideways look. Then she folds her arms over her stomach and said, “I wasn’t sure at first, but I think maybe I understand a bit better now. Deucalion . . . probably wants to bring Stiles into his pack. He sort of . . . recruits the more unusual alphas.”

“Yeah, well, all he’ll get when he crosses onto this territory is a single warning and then a face full of misery,” Derek says, pulling out his phone.

Cora goes tense. “Who are you calling?”

“Stiles.” Derek gives her a look, as if to ask who else he would be calling.

Her mouth tightens into a scowl. “Yeah, what’s _he_ going to do about it?”

“Uh, take care of the problem. With extreme prejudice, usually.” Derek pulls up Stiles’ number and hits send.

“At least put it on speaker so I can hear,” Cora gripes, just as Stiles picks up on the other end.

“Oh, for the love of . . . Stiles, I’m putting the call on speaker,” Derek says, holding the phone between himself and Cora.

Stiles laughs a little. “You sound like something just bit you on the butt,” he says. “What’s up?”

“It did. It’s called déjà vu. Apparently there’s an alpha pack coming.”

Stiles immediately picks up on the pronouns. “ _An_ alpha pack? Not _the_ alpha pack?”

“Right,” Derek confirms. “Led by some jackhole with the incredibly pretentious name of Deucalion? I don’t know if you want to call up Justin and Yas and see where the _actual_ alpha pack has fucked off to at the moment and see if they’d like to show up and deal with this.” He sounds skeptical. “Cora says he likes to recruit unusual alphas. But I get the feeling his methods are suspect.”

“Noted,” Stiles says. “I’ll text Justin. Hey, I’m on speaker, you said? Cora, what kind of cookies do you like?”

“What?” Cora asks.

“Cookies. You know. It’s not a trick question.”

“I don’t . . . why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m going to make cookies. See? Not a trick.”

Derek blinks at his sister for a minute, and then out of nowhere, a memory hits him: Cora standing in the kitchen of their house, insisting that half the cookies were totally inedible. “Sugar,” he answers for her, “but only if you have the big sugar crystals available.”

“I can have someone grab some on the way,” Stiles says. “Anything else?”

“Gingersnaps?” Derek asks hopefully.

Stiles gives a snort. “I meant ‘anything else you need to tell me while we’re on the phone’?”

“I don’t think so,” Derek concedes. “See you later.” He hangs up and looks at Cora. She’s just staring at him, her lip still curled a little. “What?”

“He’s not even _worried_ ,” she spits out. “He’s not taking it seriously at all.”

“Okay, for one thing, you don’t know him well enough to tell when he’s worried.” It’s true that baking is one of Stiles’ coping mechanisms, although he’s not exactly sure that’s what this particular batch of cookies is for. “Secondly, being worried and taking things seriously aren’t the same thing. And lastly, what’s he supposed to do with no intel? All he can do right now is look for information.” Derek stares his sister down for a long minute. “Why the hell are you so angry?”

“Because this – this isn’t right, none of it is right,” Cora shoots back. “Because I’ve spent the last nine years dreaming of the day we might be able to put the pack back together, and I finally come home and I find – _this_.”

Derek drags a hand back through his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with this. We have a good pack. A healthy, happy, powerful pack. It may not be the Hale pack, but we have a good alpha. And that alpha is not me. And that’s okay.”

“You _could_ be the alpha,” Cora says.

“I could have the power, but never the pack. Even in the beginning, when it was just the five of us, some of them never would have accepted me as their alpha.” He thinks that Scott would have been the real problem, but he doesn’t want to give his sister the name, and to be honest he can’t blame Scott for that. “The others, maybe, if Stiles was my lupa. But this? This is _good_. Everyone accepts Stiles. Including me. He’s a good alpha, Cora.”

“Look, you asked why I was angry and I told you,” Cora retorts. “I just want to deal with Deucalion without losing the only family member I have left.”

“Stiles won’t let Deucalion hurt me,” Derek states, with rock solid certainty.

Cora doesn’t seem to share it. “ _I_ won’t let Deucalion hurt you.”

“Do me a favor and don’t go after him unless you have a pack to back you up. And I mean a pack that has experience tangling in this sort of mess. I don’t want to lose you either, now that I know you’re alive.”

“I’ve tangled with assholes plenty of times,” Cora says, but then looks away. “But I haven’t had a pack at my back for a long time.”

Derek remembers that, that horrible lonely feeling from the months between Laura’s death and the birth of the new pack. He steps closer to Cora, somewhat cautiously, and pulls her into a hug. Cora goes stiff in his embrace for a few moments, but then presses her cheek into his chest and wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him so tightly that his ribs creak. He hugs her even tighter in return.

After a long minute, he lets her go and says, “Come on. We should get back to the den. Stiles will have heard from the others by now.”

“Fine,” Cora says, with a sigh, the roll of her eyes implying that she’ll put up with this idiot who’s their alpha as long as things are being handled. Derek thinks about saying something, but then just shakes his head. He has so many questions that he doesn’t even know where to start, and since Cora’s answers so far have been evasive at best, he decides to keep them to himself.

The house is full of pack members and noise and the smell of Stiles baking when they get back. Cora seems to huddle tighter, her glower deepening even more, and the first person they run into is, unfortunately, Erica, who blurts out, “Holy _shit_ she is such a Hale, look at that scowl!”

Derek’s eyes roll so hard that they practically shoot into orbit. “Thanks, Erica. Love you, too.” But he steps forward to rub cheeks with her and not to make Cora give up her personal bubble. He remembers how threatening it can feel to have people and especially other werewolves close to you when you’re omega and you already feel out of sorts.

“Where the hell did all these people come from?” Cora asks, looking around as they proceed into the living room. It seems like there are people everywhere all of a sudden.

“Scott called them,” Derek tells her. “Or at least he called Allison. And maybe Erica.” Isaac was technically Scott’s second branch of the phone tree, and Erica was on Isaac’s branch, but he was betting some improvisation had happened. “We have a pack phone tree.”

“You . . . have . . . a phone tree,” Cora says, each word slow and deliberate, like she’s speaking another language and isn’t quite sure what she’s talking about.

Derek nods. “It’s efficient, and more personal and safer than a mass text.”

Cora’s just giving him a look like they’re not even on the same planet, let alone the same page, which is when Scott comes over to rescue Derek and says, “Hey, we should introduce you. We didn’t really get a chance earlier. I’m Scott, and that’s Erica . . .” The entire pack has gathered by this point, so Scott points to each of them and they offer a wave or a smile.

Cora barely tolerates all of this and is just short of rude at the end when she says, “Yeah, great to meet you. Can we get down to business?”

“Wow,” Allison says, and shrugs. “Okay, I guess.” She’s worked with other hunters like this. No time to be reasonable, personable, or friendly. So she just rolls with it, though she does glance at Derek to gauge his reaction. This gives Jake a few moments to find a seat for himself and his tablet to take notes from.

Unfortunately for Cora, her phrasing provokes Mac and Danny to simultaneously burst into song. “Let’s get down to business – ” Mac bellows.

“To defeat the Huns!” Danny replies automatically, in a strong baritone, and a smattering of giggles comes from every direction.

“You’re all the worst,” Derek says, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “And I’m taking away your Disney privileges.”

Seeing that Cora’s about to have apoplexy and possibly start snarling or trying to claw people’s faces off, Isaac gives her a sidelong glance and says, “Seriously, though.”

“Seriously, we should probably wait for our alpha,” Lydia says, not even looking up from where she’s reading a fashion magazine.

“Four minutes!” Stiles shouts from the kitchen.

Derek half-turns towards the kitchen, which brings him into Cora’s personal space. The combined scent of his sister and the cookies nearly brings him to his knees. He had said he remembered her liking them, and that was true. He remembers her little scowl as she proclaimed half of them unfit to eat because the sugar crystals were too small, but he also remembers her snatching a handful of them and flat out running through the house to escape her pursuing aunt, laughing the whole way.

“I’d think this is a little more important,” Cora says, then sees the way Derek is looking at her. “What?”

“Just . . . the last person who made you sugar cookies was Aunt Olivia.” Derek looks like he might honestly start to cry. “You stole four of them and ran away.”

Cora’s face twists in a combination of grief and pain, and she looks away. “Oh,” she says.

“So, uhm . . . wow, Derek has a sister!” Mac says. “Where, uh, where have you been?”

At that, Cora’s expression tightens even more. “A lot of places,” she says.

Derek rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Will you at least tell us what you’ve been doing, if you don’t want to tell us where you’ve been doing it?”

“I’ve been surviving,” Cora says. “Learning how to fight. Taking care of myself.”

Derek nods a little, making a mental note that she’s not about to let anyone else take care of her now. He wonders if this was what it was like for Scott and Stiles when they met him.

“Do you have a pack?” Isaac asks her.

“How is that your business?” Cora shoots back.

Isaac lifts his hands in surrender, but flicks a glance around the room. It’s Allison who answers. “Uh, well, being in that this is our territory, we do generally like to keep track of how many werewolves have wandered onto it.”

Cora doesn’t look thrilled with being called out, but she says, “No. I’m here alone.”

Fortunately for all of them, Stiles walks in then, holding a tray of cookies in one hand and a pitcher of iced tea. He’s wearing his ‘baking is science for hungry people’ apron. Erica is behind him with a stack of paper cups and a bunch of napkins. “Okay, guys, let’s get down to business,” he says, then holds out a hand and says, “Do _not_ ,” to Mac and Danny, who both burst into snickers. “For real, guys. Serious face on,” he adds, and the pack settles into silence.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, these chapter breaks feel so weird to me because the first five chapters are basically one long scene of "holy shit, Cora!"

 

“So,” Stiles says, “Justin’s exact response to being asked about Deucalion was, and I quote, ‘oh, _that_ douche-canoe’.”

Jake picks up his stylus and starts tapping at his tablet, to record that Deucalion is a douche-canoe into the official pack record. Derek directs Cora to the end of one of the sofas and sits next to her. Isaac sits down on the floor, practically on Cora’s feet so his profile is facing Derek, who gives him a curious look but says nothing. Allison grabs a cookie and sits down in one of the chairs as Erica hands out cups of tea. “So the official response from the alpha pack is to be annoyed and unimpressed,” Allison says. “Good to know. Anything else useful?”

“Well, he said he and the others are in Italy right now, the bastards,” Stiles says, “and he didn’t seem so concerned about Deucalion making a move on his reputation that he was inclined to rush back and do something about it.”

Cora looks between Derek and Stiles, practically vibrating with tension. For a few moments, she seems to debate between keeping silent but being confused, or speaking out but betraying her confusion. Then she bites out, “Who’s Justin?”

Derek decides to field this, as many of the pack had been added after the trial, although at this point they had met Justin and the other alphas. Several of the others would deliver their information with their own unique charm, and that probably wouldn’t help matters. “Justin is the leader of _the_ alpha pack. They run a trial for the new alphas with a pack, basically to make sure the alpha is worthy of the power and position. You might remember the previous leader. Kali Steele.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Cora says, but her eyes are narrowing at Stiles, who’s passing around the cookies. Several pack members already have full mouths already. “ _You_ passed this trial?”

“With flying colors,” Stiles says, which is a complete lie. “Problem?”

Cora folds her arms across her chest and says, “Where to start?”

Several of the other pack members shift uneasily at the growing tension in the room. Erica opens her mouth to say something vulgar, and Boyd reaches out to grab her hand. Stiles just takes a deep breath, and the others follow his lead and don’t say anything to Cora. “Justin says as far as he knows, Deucalion’s been travelling around to recruit alphas into his pack for the last several years. He doesn’t know who all is in it. They’ve gone after him a few times but never actually caught up with him. He said Deucalion is a ruthless, merciless killer, but, and I quote again, ‘nothing you guys can’t handle’.”

“So he could be coming here to recruit, or he could be coming here for our heads,” Derek says.

“My guess is to recruit,” Stiles says. “I mean, let’s face it, I _am_ pretty awesome.”

“And so modest,” Lydia remarks, nibbling delicately at a cookie.

Cora looks around the room. “You . . . you guys can’t be serious,” she says. “Nothing you can’t handle? Really?”

Stiles pushes a hand through his hair and tries viciously to rein in his temper. “Cora,” he says, “have a cookie.”

Derek puts a few of them on a napkin and shoves it at her, with the implication that she can take it or wear it. She takes it, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to be eating any of them any time soon. Stiles just watches her in silence for a long minute. Finally, he says, “Okay. So. Until anyone actually shows up, we’re on defense. The buddy rule is in effect – Jake, you too. Everyone’s going to be spending their nights at the den, but I don’t think we need to put watches on yet. I need to call my father. Allison, I want to talk to you about a few things, too.” It’s best not to bring up the Argents while in Cora’s presence, he decides. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the fire or how she’ll react. He checks his watch. It’s a little after six. “Who’s had dinner?” he asks, and only Danny and Boyd raise their hands. “Okay. I don’t have anything ready to cook, so we’ll order. Jake, you’ll handle that?” he adds, and he nods.

Cora watches him give this string of orders in silence. She seems to have settled into ‘observer’ status for the time being, and as long as Stiles doesn’t try to order her around, she’s content to keep an eye on things. Derek just watches his pack move around him, and that gives him a sense of stability and security that’s been slipping in and out of his grip since his sister had showed up earlier. “Cora,” he says calmly, “just eat the cookie. We’ll be okay.”

She just glowers at him. Scott and Isaac exchange a glance, then Isaac says, “Where is she going to stay?”

“Well – here, I assumed,” Stiles says.

Scott frowns and says, uncertainly, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Derek’s eyebrows climb. “And why not?”

“Uh.” Isaac glances at Stiles, turning his head a little to show his throat. “She sort of suggested killing you.”

“Wait. What?” Derek looks from Isaac to Cora and back again, that Hale scowl making an appearance. Stiles is just standing there with a look of mild surprise on his face, more of a ‘that was quick’ expression than an ‘I can’t believe she would say that’ expression. Derek opens his mouth to say something else, but then closes it again, giving Isaac a chance to elaborate. Isaac isn’t stupid, but he also doesn’t deserve to have Derek jump down his throat if he just misunderstood something.

Isaac is flinching a little, so it’s Scott that speaks up, with the calm confidence he displays whenever he’s needed as a medic. “Derek, she said ‘you could be alpha’. What she didn’t say was ‘if you killed Stiles’, but that’s what she meant, and we all know it.”

Derek’s face goes completely blank, and he turns to Cora. “Is that what you meant?”

Cora glares back at him. “That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

“Oh, geez,” Stiles says under his breath.

“No,” Derek grinds out. “No, Cora, it _isn’t_.” He jolts to his feet. “What makes you think I’m even _capable_ of doing that? Didn’t you hear me say that I’m his _lupa_?” He starts pacing around, voice on the edge between rage and actual panic.

Cora holds her ground. “That’s not how it works in _families_ , but this isn’t a family, he came in here and stole what should be yours, so you’d have every right – ”

Derek stops moving and flat out snarls at her.

Cora goes white and takes an involuntary step back. The entire room is silent, buzzing with tension. Stiles breaks it. In a calm, measured voice, he says, “Isaac, Erica, Boyd. You will take turns on Cora-watch. Work out the shifts amongst yourselves. Let me know if you have any problems. Okay?”

Erica slowly turns angry gold eyes from Cora to Stiles. “You sure?”

Stiles nods. “Yes. She’s Derek’s sister and a guest in this den, and she will be treated with respect until such time as Derek decides he wants her out of here.” Despite his efforts at control, Stiles’ eyes are starting to glow crimson, and the rage in his voice is plainly audible to anybody who knows him.

For a long minute, Derek just stands there, fists slowly clenching and unclenching. “Fuck this. I need to go paint something angry. Call me when there’s food,” he adds, before stomping off.

Cora just glares after him. Stiles sighs and pushes both hands through his hair, and everyone sits in uncomfortable silence for a long minute. Then Mac raises her hand. “I have a question,” she says, and when Stiles looks at her, she says, “Uh, so, I know that you guys generally exhibit an ask-no-questions-take-no-prisoners sort of attitude when it comes to people threatening the alpha, which, I’m on board with, so . . . why aren’t we tying her up and putting her in the pit or something?”

Cora snarls at Mac. Boyd grabs Erica around the waist before the blonde can leap across the room and introduce her face to the floor.

Stiles looks straight at Cora as he answers. “Because she’s Derek’s sister, and I won’t do anything or allow anything that would hurt Derek. End of story.”

“So what do we do?” Isaac asks, rubbing at his nose. He looks at Cora as if to question whether or not she can stop provoking Erica into a blind rage.

“Like I said. We watch her.” Stiles shakes his head a little. “I don’t trust you,” he says. “But Derek thought his family was gone, and now he has you, and I won’t take that away from him. But if you hurt him, I will destroy you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Cora says, with a dismissive snort.

Everything about Stiles goes rigid and blank for a moment. Then he shakes his head and says, “Boy, you really _have_ been out of the loop.” Without another word, he walks back into the kitchen. Allison gives Cora a sharp look before following him.

Once in the kitchen, Stiles paces back and forth several times, running his hands through his hair, while Allison stands there in silence, watching and waiting. Finally, he huffs out a sigh and says, “We should call your father. Let him know that enemies might be arriving in town, see if he knows anything about this guy. But I don’t want Cora to know about it. She hates me enough without . . . hunter stuff coming in to play.”

Allison nods. “I can keep the phone calls quiet. I can even ask my dad if I have grounds to deal with this guy as a hunter before he even gets to our territory.” She glances back into the living room and says, “Not that she would like that much either, even if it was separate from you. But we won’t be able to hide it, if it comes to a fight. I fight like a hunter and that’s going to show. You, too. In the weapons we choose if nothing else. She’ll know.”

“Yeah.” Stiles rubs a hand over the back of his head. “But if we can at least keep the Argent name out of it, that might keep things from being blown out of proportion. I don’t know how much she knows. Jesus, I hate that. I don’t know where she’s been or what she’s been up to, and she’s obviously not going to tell us. I hate not knowing shit.”

“Do you think she’s trying to pull one over on us? Or just . . . be bitchy?” Allison asks. “Your gut instinct.”

Stiles bites his lip. “My gut instinct . . . is that she was genuinely relieved and happy to see Derek. He’s her priority. She’ll do whatever it takes to protect him. But she doesn’t respect me as his alpha, so, to her ‘protecting Derek’ might mean ‘bumping me off’. I don’t think she’s in league with the baddies, though.”

Allison’s quiet for a moment. “Uh . . . do you think she would actually listen if we tried to explain to her that killing you would kill _him_? I thought all werewolves were supposed to understand the whole lupa thing, and it’s us humans that are slow.”

“Maybe, but . . .” Stiles frowns. “There’s two possibilities here. One is that she doesn’t believe Derek’s actually my lupa and that either he’s pretending or we’re mistaken or something like that. But I think it’s more basic than that. She seems to have been omega for so long . . . I think she just . . . doesn’t understand. That it’d be like trying to explain the color green to someone who’s been blind since birth.”

Allison lets her head fall back into the wall with a soft thump. “Sometimes I’m really ashamed of my genetics,” she says, thinking about the damage that Kate and Gerard had done to Derek’s family, that somehow never ends. “If I ever go . . .” She waves a hand vaguely. “You guys won’t let me. Right?”

“I’ll have you in a straightjacket getting _all_ the therapy before you know what hit you,” Stiles promises her.

“Good, okay.” Allison sounds a little shaky, but pulls herself together. “So . . . she’s forgotten what it’s like to be in a pack, and there’s no way to remind her while she’s so determined to separate Derek from you. Awesome.”

Stiles gives a sigh. “Look, I’m going to go call my dad, maybe he’ll have an idea. If he doesn’t, I’ll talk to Gwen. Cora seems pretty obviously fucked up, so maybe Gwen can help me figure out how to handle her. In the meantime, you call your dad, and then I want you and Danny to run a standard check around the perimeter, just make sure everything’s in order. He can check the electronics while you check the manual stuff.”

“Sure. I’ll make my calls from outside.” She gives him that Disney princess smile. “And I’ll check the padding in the pit. Just in case.”

Stiles laughs. “You do that,” he says, and heads upstairs. He expects that this will be the last fifteen minutes of privacy that he’s going to get for a while, and he sighs as he looks out the window, watching Allison and Danny cross the yard to the fence. Then he dials his father. “Hey, so, I have the strangest question,” he says. “Any chance that you still have the files for the Hale house fire?”

“Sadly, I keep a copy in our safe at home,” his father replies. He’s suspicious, but not asking questions, yet. Stiles will talk when he wants to.

“Nrrrg. I’m on lockdown right now,” Stiles says, and sighs. “Any chance you can go take a look at it for me?”

“Oh, for the love of God, son.” There’s some movement and shuffling as the man moves towards the safe. “What sort of trouble have you found now?” he adds, his tone that of exasperated affection.

“More like, what trouble is looking for me,” Stiles says. “I’ve been very good, you know, not doing any heavy lifting, taking my medicine, taking my naps – and then an hour ago this girl shows up on the doorstep and it turns out she’s Derek’s younger sister. Cora.”

“Good, good . . .” Stilinski praises him through everything and then they get to Cora. “Wait. What?” There’s more noise of shuffling paper and then the thump of a file hitting the table.

“That’s what I said. But Derek recognized her by _scent_ , not even by sight, and if there’s a way to fake that, I don’t know about it. She doesn’t seem eager to talk about where she’s been and nobody has even had the balls to bring up how she might have survived the fire. But . . . I don’t trust her, and I want to find out what I can.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.” There’s the flipping of paper and then quiet for a few minutes. “It could really be her. There was no way to be sure of whose body was whose. Do you want to know anything more than that?”

“I guess, given that the fire inspector was on their payroll, we can’t be sure of anything,” Stiles says. “Unless there’s anything you can see about how a teenaged girl might have escaped. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“She wouldn’t have been more than eleven at the time,” Stilinski says quietly. “And I think we can trust this part of the report, to be honest. Kate wanted them all dead, so there would be no reason to lie about survivors.”

“Yeah.” Stiles pushes a hand through his hair and ruffles it vigorously. “Okay, I gotta go. Things to do. I’ll keep you posted. But . . . be careful, okay?”

“Why am I being careful, Stiles?” his father asks suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what’s going on for sure yet. She’s here, she came to warn Derek about some guy that’s coming after – she thought – him, but actually, the alpha of the Beacon Hills pack, so, me. That’s why we’re on lockdown over here. Just . . . keep your eye out for any weird shit, and watch your back, because, well, I have to tell you that or I’ll worry.”

“All right. You take care of yourself. I have to tell you that because I’m your father. And I worry. Whether I tell you or not.”

“Yep. Love-you-bye,” Stiles says, and waits for his father’s ‘I love you too’ before hanging up and pulling Gwen up in his cell phone’s memory. He hates to bother her in the evening, but he thinks he’s going to need her expertise to deal with Derek, let alone Cora, if he wants to keep any disasters from happening before morning. He hears the noise of someone shifting out in the hallway. The illusion of privacy in a house with werewolves. He knew that they were going to assign him a constant watch just as he had assigned one to Cora, but as long as whoever it was – Boyd, he thinks – stays out in the hallway, he can pretend he’s in private.

“This is Gwen Mulroney,” the professional voice says.

“Hey, Gwen, it’s Stiles, not an emergency, let me know if you’re in the middle of dinner or something,” Stiles says.

“Nope. It’s TV night. But I have TiVo. What do you need?”

“Advice,” Stiles says, “on how to deal with the single most standoffish person I have ever met, who may or may not want me dead, but must be welcomed into my den. Intrigued yet?”

Gwen laughs. “Absolutely.”

“Okay, then, get ready for the kicker. Derek has a younger sister named Cora, and it turns out she survived the fire and has been on the run ever since, and she turned up on our doorstep about an hour ago with a warning that some badass is coming here to, I don’t know, either recruit me or eat me, I’m not sure which.” Stiles gives Gwen a quick summary of everything that’s happened since Cora’s arrival. “So now I’m trying to figure out how to deal with her, and how to keep Derek sane while I’m at it.”

“Well, the good news is that Derek is being smart enough to disengage when pushed too far, and he isn’t just letting her run him over,” Gwen says.

“Yeah, he’s actually handling it better than I would have predicted, if anyone had asked me, which of course nobody did because what the actual fuck.”

“You really do seem to have the most interesting luck.” Gwen sighs. “Does she seem to genuinely care for Derek?”

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” Stiles says. “I mean, it seems . . . complicated. She genuinely loves the _memory_ of her brother, even if so far she seems unimpressed with the reality of him.”

“Okay. So here’s your advice, based on what we know. Remember that her life has most likely been pretty awful, even if she won’t share details with you. And I’m not saying that yours has been roses, because obviously it hasn’t. So I know that her problems don’t give her all the excuses to behave badly when other people are putting in effort, but you’ve had help and it’s likely that she hasn’t. That’s the first thing I want you to remember.”

Stiles takes a slow breath in and out, tries to imagine managing all of what had happened without his father’s help in the beginning, without the pack, without Gwen. “Okay,” he says. “Mental note made.”

“The second thing to remember is that all of her bitching and angry hissing and spitting is being done because she loves her brother. Sure, she’s showing it badly, and in many cases getting the opposite result of protecting him by hurting him herself, but she’s making this noise because she’s afraid for him.”

“Heh. Derek used to be like that,” Stiles says, and even musters a fond smile at the memory. “He was _always_ yelling at me whenever I got into trouble. I swear to God, a stubbed toe would send him into rages. It did get a lot easier once I realized that the reason he got so pissed off was because he was scared and didn’t know how to show it.”

“So apparently it’s a genetic trait.”

“Derek can start calling her Mini-Me,” Stiles suggests.

Gwen snorts. “I highly suspect that she wouldn’t appreciate that,” she says, and Stiles laughs and agrees. “Try to respect her as much as you can. By which I mean, try not to fight with her or upset her, but you don’t have to give way, either. It’s still your pack. And Derek will need to know that he has you and that stability to lean on.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I just hope she doesn’t recommend killing me again. It’s hard not to laugh in her face, to be honest.”

“Maybe, but sometimes you rely on people underestimating you. Don’t forget that when dealing with her.”

“Right.” Stiles lets out another breath. “Okay. I’d better go make sure nothing’s exploded in my absence. Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you next Thursday.”

Stiles thinks that with his life, he’s likely to be talking to her before then, but says good night and then heads back downstairs. The food has arrived; Jake has ordered from the Greek deli because Lydia is being a food snob and they deliver. They’re used to handing it to whoever is waiting at the outside gate. Cora is still sitting on the sofa where Derek left her, with her arms folded over her stomach. Stiles just studies her for a moment, noting the defensive posture, the way the two cookies Derek gave her are still sitting on their napkin next to her. Then he eases past her and into the studio.

Derek is indeed painting something big and angry, and filled with fire. He’s thrown down sheets to haphazardly cover the floor, and then laid down nine of his medium-sized canvasses in a rough square. Now he’s on his hands and knees in amongst them and sometimes on top of them, painting with one hand while the other supports his weight. His clothing has become a casualty of the endeavor, and there are tubes of paint and mixing trays tossed in a loose circle around him. He doesn’t look up when Stiles comes in. “Has she said something else awful?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Stiles says. “I went to go talk security with Allison and then give my father an update. But she still seemed to be breathing when I went through, and Erica hasn’t smashed her face through the coffee table, so I’m going to assume she’s kept herself reasonably polite.” He gives that a moment to sink in. “Dinner’s here, if you’re hungry.”

“Sort of. If nothing else, I should probably be there in case she says something nasty to Mac about being a vegetarian. Someone might brain her, and Lydia likes the furniture.” Derek peels himself off the floor and finds a rag.

Stiles waits until he’s gotten most of the paint off himself before wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist, hugging him tight. “We’re going to handle this, okay? It won’t be easy, but we’ll figure it out like we always do.”

Derek hugs back just as tightly, pressing his nose into Stiles’ neck. “I want her to stay,” he mumbles into Stiles’ skin. “But I don’t, I can’t let her destroy the pack to do it. Or take you away. But. She’s my _sister_.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “I think she’s just . . . been omega for a really long time. She doesn’t understand. We can try to be patient with her, okay? After all, I managed to ignore all the circling and snarling _you_ did, back at the beginning.”

Derek pulls away abruptly. “Jesus. Was I this bad?”

Stiles has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He holds up one hand to start counting off incidents. “ ‘I’m gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth.’ Or how about ‘you wanna do homework, or do you wanna not die?’ ‘You want me to teach you, get rid of Allison.’ ‘Your stupid little teenaged crush means nothing.’ ‘Find some better coping mechanisms.’ ‘I thought I told you to stay away from the Argents.’ I could keep going, do you need me to keep going?”

Derek looks at him sourly.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Stiles says. “But in a way that’s good, right? I mean, you eventually fell victim to my considerable charms. Give Cora some time and she’ll learn to tolerate me too.”

“Even I ate the damned cookie,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles gives a snort of laughter despite the situation. “Yeah, okay. So you weren’t quite as bad. But . . . you had Laura.” He’s quiet for a moment, sobering up. “Cora hasn’t had anybody. I think . . . hopefully she just needs time.”

“Okay.” Derek nods and lets out a breath. “Time. We can do that. But no more talking about you being killed. I _can’t_ listen to that.”

“Not thrilled with the concept either, to be honest,” Stiles says, his hand hovering over the scar in his abdomen that Matt’s bullet had left without thinking about it. “I’ll tell the others that from now on the official policy with Cora is ‘do not engage’. Unless she starts talking about killing me. Do you want to handle that if it comes up again? Or should I?”

Derek reaches out and puts his hand over Stiles’. “I don’t know. She has no respect for you, but she isn’t listening to me, either.”

“Part of that is a pretty basic lack of knowledge,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “I wonder if we can casually have campfire stories about my most badass moments without it seeming contrived.”

“With this group, yes. Our entire lives have turned into a giant in-joke.”

Stiles nods thoughtfully. “I’ll have a word with Mac. She wasn’t here for a lot of it, and even for the stuff she _was_ here for – well, she’s good at asking questions without it seeming like a setup. Danny, too. How would you like to take Cora outside to see the defenses – that should help calm her down some – so I can have a private word with the pack before we eat?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

 

Derek nods, finds some missed paint on one of his knuckles, and then wipes it off on Stiles’ nose. Stiles makes a face at him. Derek makes a face right back before heading into the living room to find his sister whole and still pissed off. The others look up as he comes in, and they seem to have come to a tacit agreement that they’ll take it easy on him. “Hey, Der, there’s chicken souvlaki and that lemon soup you like,” Isaac calls over to him.

“It’s called avgolemono,” Lydia says archly.

“Thanks,” Derek calls back. He’s not up to mustering any sort of happy expression yet, though. He looks at Lydia with honest curiosity. “Do you speak Greek?”

“I’m not fluent,” Lydia says, “but I could handle a weekend in Greece if I needed to.”

Trying to be polite, Boyd says, “Cora, do you like Greek food?”

Cora shrugs and says, in a neutral tone, “I’ll eat just about anything.”

Derek nods to Lydia’s reply and then glances over at his sister. He’s sure that she means it – aside from the cookies, which she still hasn’t touched. Someone on the move and underage wouldn’t have the luxury of being picky about sustenance. “Cora, come on. You can help me check the house’s security before we eat.” He thinks going about it that way will sound a lot better than ‘let me show you how safe we are’.

Cora nods and immediately gets to her feet. Allison opens her mouth to mention that she and Danny had already done that, then sees the look of something like relief on Cora’s face, and keeps her mouth shut. “I saw the fences on my way in,” she says, a little abruptly but at least initiating conversation. “Holes for the wildlife. That’s . . . nice, I guess, but. It’s a vulnerability that isn’t necessary.”

“You remember that we’re in the middle of the preserve, right?” Derek asks, but he’s make sure that his tone isn’t mean. She seems to have forgotten a lot. “The wildlife is important. Most of the locals know that the posted signs mean business.” He leads her out the back door. “I can and do have people arrested for trespassing. But really it’s just a warning that no one’s going to listen if you whine about having seen something weird, because I’ll just ask what you were doing on my land.” They head across the yard, and he leans over to scoop up a stick as he goes. “The house defenses are about ten steps above those.”

“I waltzed in easily enough,” Cora points out.

Derek waves for her to follow him to a break in the screen of trees, and throws the stick through it, against the fence. Of course, it bounces back in a shower of sparks. “That’s because we leave this off during the day when the pack is coming and going and there’s no trouble. It’ll stay on for now until this mess is taken care of.”

For the first time since she arrived, something like approval shows on Cora’s face. She nods a little. “That’s a good start, I guess,” she says.

Derek takes her around the perimeter and shows her the traps and other nasty surprises. “We also have video surveillance. Here’s the power box to the fence,” he adds, pointing to the fuse box set temptingly visible near the front gate.

Cora’s face twists. “Ugh, for a minute I was actually a little bit impressed, but come on, putting it _right there_ is – ” She walks forward as she’s talking, then stops abruptly when she sets her left foot down and feels the slight give in the ground below her. “Holy _shit_.”

Derek pulls out his phone and flips through the photos until he comes up against the one of Jake’s parents in the pit. Once Cora is back on solid ground, he hands it to her. “Deep enough to hold werewolves or two people standing on each other’s shoulders. We also have a cell phone jammer to keep people from calling for help.”

“Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?” she asks, frowning slightly. “I mean, unless you killed them, you’d have to let them out eventually. What if they went to the police?”

“Well, most people that are going to go to these lengths are hunters, like these two assholes,” Derek says, taking his phone back, “and they usually don’t want to involve the police. If it’s just the average idiot, we can let them go and they don’t have any right to complain. We have the right to a hole in the ground, and they don’t have a right to be on our property. And the law in this county looks favorably on us.”

“Favorably how?” Cora asks, wrinkling her forehead.

“Stiles is the sheriff’s son. Plus the DA really likes Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski because they helped out his son Jackson once, when the guy didn’t really deserve it, and it probably saved Jackson’s life.”

Some of the tension is leaving Cora’s shoulders. “Okay, well. That . . . that’s good.” She suddenly looks exhausted, and rubs the back of her hand over her eyes.

Derek tactfully doesn’t mention it. “Dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. As they start back towards the house, she says, “So . . . how’d you get all this set up?”

Derek thinks fast to come up with a way to explain Chris Argent in a Cora-friendly manner. “Stiles designed most of it, then had help with the details and actual construction with a guy that does consulting for police in weapons and security.” Which is actually true. That is Chris’ legitimate business. “He also put electric fencing up around the old house for me. A lot of the locals used to go there to try to . . . I don’t even know. It’s a ‘spooky old house’, I guess.” He waves this aside. “Anyway, it was really bothering me, so . . . fence. No gate. You have to be a ‘wolf to get over it without real effort, even if it’s off.”

Cora nods a little and jams her hands into her pockets. “I’m surprised he cared,” she says. “About the old house, I mean.”

“He cares because I care,” Derek says, despite the fact that he has already said so. “The new den was my idea. If I hadn’t been ready to rebuild, it wouldn’t be here.”

Her face tightens again. “Why did you even leave the old one at all? I would’ve bulldozed it.”

Derek’s eyes shift away from hers. “Yeah, well, I’m not ready yet.”

Cora looks away. “I – I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad I saw it.” She folds her arms over her stomach, then pushes her way back into the house without waiting to hear him reply. There isn’t a lot Derek can say to it, so he just follows her back in.

While they’ve been outside, the others have moved chairs around and gotten everything set up in the dining room, which is the second largest room in the house. They have more than enough chairs, because there are spares for the times that Sheriff Stilinski or Melissa are over to eat, or sometimes Boyd’s family now that they know about the werewolf thing. There are stacks of plastic plates and cups full of silverware, plastic cups and several bottles of soda, water, and iced tea. The food is laid out but nobody has served themselves yet; they’re obviously waiting for Derek and his sister to return.

Derek leads her into the room and directs her to a chair before taking his own, which puts him between her and Stiles. “She didn’t fall into the pit. It was close, though. She has really good balance.”

Allison smirks and almost says something about how her father is still ashamed of being related to Henry, but remembers at the last minute that they’re not supposed to talk about the Argent stuff. Stiles is just laughing. “Don’t put in a tiger pit, Stiles,” he says. “No one’s going to fall for that, Stiles.”

“Best. Week. Ever,” Erica says, then frowns as she stabs at a piece of gyro meat. “Aside from, you know, the abduction and torture and shit.”

“Ian still sends postcards, you know,” Derek says, as he pries the lid off his soup and reaches for a spoon. “The last one was from somewhere in South America.”

“Argentina,” Stiles says, his mouth already full.

“I still can’t believe that you made friends with a monster that tried to kill you,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, we leave you alone for _one week_ . . . spanakopita?” she asks, holding a Styrofoam container out to Cora. She takes it somewhat awkwardly, but starts dishing herself some food.

“He did beat the crap out of him first,” Derek says. “And I think it was more of a truce. But clearly Ian’s weird.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Scott mutters darkly.

Mac shakes her head and looks at Stiles. “I’m not sorry that was before my time, but geez, you _do_ have a habit of turning enemies into friends, don’t you. I mean, Justin, Ian . . . even me.”

“You weren’t an enemy,” Danny says quickly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You were just a puppet.”

She squeezes back, but rolls her eyes and says, “Yes, but I was a murderous lizard monster puppet.”

“With paralytic venom,” Allison adds cheerfully.

“Hey, I think that, given that only two of us ended up paralyzed, that’s actually a pretty decent ratio,” Stiles says, grabbing for the platter of dolmades.

The plate gets passed down the line and Derek snags two on its way by. “By ratio, I guess our injury rate is pretty low.” He reaches for the chicken souvlaki but holds it out to Cora before serving himself.

She grabs two of the shish kabobs and then reaches for the bowl of Greek potatoes. Her mouth is already full of spinach and feta; she’s eating like she hasn’t seen food in a week. Of course, it’s possible she hasn’t, though it makes her earlier refusal to eat the cookies a level of spite previously not seen in the pack. She’s also pretending not to listen to their conversation, but when Isaac says, “I guess it’s probably Sebastian Stone that did the most actual damage to us, right?” she chokes on a mouthful of spanakopita and blurts out, “You guys tangled with Sebastian Stone?”

When Derek sees the way she’s packing away the food, he starts casually reaching for the dishes with a higher meat content, knowing that will satisfy her and stick with her longer. Sometimes he holds it for her to take some before or after him, not saying a word about it. No matter how bitchy she’s being, he finds it’s still an instinct to try to take care of her. “He thought Stiles would be fun to play with. Match wits with or something.” Derek’s tone is more disgusted than anything else.

“And you’re still alive?” Cora says, staring at Stiles.

Stiles looks down, then puts two fingers on his neck as if to check his own pulse. “So it would seem!” he says brightly. “What do you want to drink?”

She looks at him suspiciously. “Water,” she says, and he hands the pitcher over without a word.

Derek wonders if he should point out that Stone isn’t. He gets that Stiles doesn’t want to seem like he’s bragging, doesn’t want to lay it on Cora too thick. Before he has to decide, Scott says, “I’m not normally the kind of person to say this sort of thing, but I’m glad Stone’s gone. He was just . . .” Scott’s voice trails off and he shakes his head.

“He was one scary-ass motherfucker,” Boyd concludes. That language coming from the normally mellow teenager startles a laugh out of most of them.

“I don’t think you ever told me what happened to him,” Mac says, although this is a blatant lie. “Beyond that he’s dead. You can’t just kill a sorcerer, can you?”

Stiles shakes his head and says, “No, in the end I had to reflect one of his spells back at him. That took him down long enough to, uh, deal with him in a more traditional manner.”

“He wanted to be Moriarty to Stiles’ Sherlock,” Derek tells Cora. “Apparently he wasn’t bright enough to remember that Moriarty was the one who didn’t survive.”

“Technically,” Stiles says, “in the original novella, neither of them survived. Sir Conan Doyle intended for Sherlock to die at the same time, but there was a huge public uproar so he resurrected him and I sound like a gigantic dork right now, don’t I.”

“We’re used to it,” Scott says cheerfully.

“I like the new ending better,” Derek says. “And I’ve read the original stories.”

Lydia pins him down with a look. “Sacrilege,” she says.

“I don’t care what ending they do as long as they keep casting super hot guys in the role,” Erica says, with her usual sharp-toothed smile.

Derek gives Lydia the finger. “I like happy endings. Sue me.”

“It wasn’t a happy ending for Doyle, who was sick of writing the character,” Lydia replies.

“Children,” Boyd says, mildly. “Mind your manners. We have company, remember?” He looks at Cora and says, seriously, “They’re always like this.”

Cora’s too busy to chewing to bother with a reply.

Derek gives Boyd a narrow-eyed look. “He could have just given Holmes an early retirement.” Every time Cora’s plate starts to get low, he just passes another dish to her. He isn’t even being picky anymore. It’s starting to remind him of Erica when she first got the bite. Stiles is watching this, too, with that faint little frown on his face, his ‘working something out’ expression, so clearly he’s wondering if Cora has been recently wounded or just hasn’t eaten well in a long time.

“I can’t believe you’re seriously arguing about this,” Cora says, with a hint of that judgmental condescension in her voice.

Her tone ruffles everyone’s feathers, but they remember Stiles’ advice, and after a moment, Allison says brightly, “Me neither! But they’re such dorks, they can argue about _anything_ , seriously.”

“It’s not _arguing_ ,” Lydia says. “It’s _debating_. How many times must I explain that to you people?”

“Once more, apparently,” Derek states, in a way that suggests he’s suffering greatly.

Cora sets her fork down with a click, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The general camaraderie seems to make her squirm. She turns to address Stiles in a tone that’s a challenge. “How do you even turn people, if you’re not a wolf?”

Stiles, whose mouth is full of potatoes, just points to Derek. He takes that as a cue to explain. “I can’t turn people on my own, but Stiles can share power with me, channel it, I guess, and then we can turn someone.”

“So you’re not _really_ an alpha,” Cora says to him.

Several pack members bristle, but Stiles just shrugs. “I guess you could look at it that way.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Cora glowers at him. “If we’re going to be technical,” Lydia says, because Lydia is always technical, “I think all that means is that Stiles isn’t an _alpha werewolf_. It doesn’t mean he’s not an alpha.”

Cora narrows her eyes at Lydia. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“And yet, here we are,” Lydia says.

“We’re werewolves,” Scott says. “How much sense does it have to make?” he adds, but he’s careful to keep his tone curious rather than challenging.

“Well, we _are_ pretty weird, for a werewolf pack,” Stiles says. “I mean, definitely, nobody’s ever made any bones about that. And I guess it probably seems even weirder to someone like Cora, who grew up with werewolves themselves being normal. Like, to us, _everything_ is weird. To her, the only weird thing is us.” He laughs a little and shoves what’s left of the souvlaki over to her.

“This isn’t funny,” she snaps at him.

“Well, no,” Stiles agrees, “but sometimes you’ve gotta laugh or go insane.”

Isaac speaks to Cora for the first time since they sat down together. “And with all the other problems we have, we don’t need to be insane.”

“Yeah,” Cora says, voice brimming with sarcasm. “I’m sure that you guys fight off rival packs all the time.”

“And faeries,” Allison says.

“Sorcerers and their pet lizards,” Erica says, and Danny shudders.

“That troll underneath the Waterstreet Bridge,” Boyd says.

“Twice,” Scott chimes in.

“That asshole came back?” Allison asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you were, uh, out of town,” Scott says. “We handled it, no worries.”

“Let’s not forget the sorcerer werewolf,” Lydia adds, “who ruined my manicure.”

“And made fun of me,” Mac says.

“And dislocated my shoulder,” Allison says, and huffs. “We taught him a lesson, though, so it’s okay.”

Cora’s glaring at all of them, and after a moment of deliberation, she says, “Pass the grape leaves.”

Derek passes them without a word. Stiles decides to change the subject, and brings up something innocuous, and before much longer, the food on the table has been demolished. Everyone is still somewhat tense, so Stiles says, “How about a movie?”

Most people seem agreeable to this, or just don’t have an opinion. “Preferences?” Derek asks. “And no ponies,” he adds to Erica.

Erica makes a face at him. Scott says, “Brainless” at the same time that Allison says, “Action”, both of them trying to think of something that both won’t offend Cora and won’t upset her.

“Cars or martial arts?” Isaac asks.

“Put on that terrible movie with skateboard guy as a spy,” Boyd says.

“Oh, yeah, Vin Diesel, yes please,” Danny says, with emphasis.

“I could get behind that. Or on top of it,” Erica states.

“Who’s on clean-up duty?” Mac asks.

“Isaac and Scott,” Stiles replies. “I’ll help out. I’ve seen that movie a zillion times – ”

“No, you go with the others, sofa,” Scott says, frowning at him. He clearly thinks that Stiles has been exerting himself too much.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fine. Mother hen.”

Scott just gives him a look, and when they get to the living room, they make sure to leave a space open at the end of the sofa for him. Derek settles in front of him on the floor, and tugs Cora down to sit next to him. She huffs a little, and looks out the window several times, but settles. Seeing her nervousness, Boyd goes over and pulls the blinds down. That makes her relax a little more. By the time the movie has actually started, she’s starting to blink more slowly. Five minutes later, she’s sound asleep like she hasn’t slept in weeks, her head slumped against Derek’s shoulder.

Isaac comes in after loading the dishwasher and hands them a blanket. Derek nods his thanks and settles it over his sister, who stirs but doesn’t wake. There’s some quiet conferencing while the movie plays. Stiles wants to stay downstairs with Derek, but he knows he’ll wake up sore and stiff if he sleeps on the sofa or the floor. “Bed, doctor’s orders,” Scott reminds him, and he sighs but agrees.

In the end, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac decide to stay downstairs with Derek and Cora, so they can more easily coordinate ‘Cora-watch’. Everyone else goes up to the bedroom.

Stiles hasn’t slept without Derek at his side since he’d been shot, so he sleeps restlessly, even with Scott sprawled on one side of him and Lydia’s strawberry blonde chin resting on his chest. She wakes him twice when he starts making noise in his sleep, interrupting both nightmares before they can really take hold. He’s glad when he sees sunlight start to show around the curtains, and heads downstairs to make breakfast.

Erica is up, taking her shift while she reads a comic book. “Hey, you,” Stiles says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Breakfast preferences?”

“Mmm, yeah, make those bitchin’ lemon muffins,” she says.

Stiles nods. “When Cora wakes up, will you loan her some clothes and let her use the shower if she wants?”

Erica makes a face. “Okay.”

Stiles heads into the kitchen and starts baking. The smell has everyone up before long, and it’s the usual morning chaos of coordinating who takes showers in which order and in which bathroom. Cora rather grumpily accepts Erica’s jeans and tank top and the use of their bathroom. By the time she’s out, the muffins are ready and Stiles has bacon cooking. He’s made some extra, since Cora seems to be hungry. Since she’s going to be pissed no matter what, he just flat out asks her. “Are you recovering from an injury?”

“What?” Cora asks, scowling reflexively.

Trying to be patient, Stiles says, “You’re eating twice as much as a girl your size normally would. That’s either because you’ve been suffering from long-term deprivation, or because you’re recovering from an injury. I would like to know which one, so I know what resources I have available and what resources I shouldn’t push.”

Cora stares at him hard for a few moments, but then huffs and says, “I’m not injured.” She doesn’t offer any other explanation.

Stiles nods and gestures to the food despite that. “Take as much as you need.”

“I will,” she says. Stiles lets it go and pours her a mug of coffee. Breakfast passes quietly except for some chatting. Boyd and Isaac are still asleep, since they had to take shifts of Cora-watch and didn’t sleep as much of the others. Stiles is restless, even jittery, tapping his spoon against the table repeatedly. Derek refills his coffee mug and then slides his fingers through Stiles’.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Information. Cora, if you’ve tangled with these alphas, why don’t you tell us as much about them as you know?”

After a long moment, Cora huffs a sigh. “There are six of them. All of them killers. The rumor is that each of them killed their entire pack and absorbed their power.”

“Jesus,” Scott says.

Cora gives a little nod. “I haven’t met all of them. They can hide their presence – you could walk past one without even knowing that he was a wolf, let alone an alpha. They’re ruthless, particularly Deucalion. He would have to be, in order to get the respect of the others.”

Jake starts taking notes on his tablet, and Allison looks keenly interested. “Do you know how they move? I mean, do they tend to stay in motels, camp, drive cars, that sort of thing?”

Cora tucks some of her hair behind her ears. “They’re not the sort to camp. Deucalion . . . he would say he’s a man of refined tastes.” Her lip curls. “Last time I ran into them, he had gotten a penthouse apartment. They’re not bothered by staying in cities the way some wolves are. I don’t know how they travel, though.”

“Sounds like a psycho,” Allison says. “But we can use that to find him if we need to.”

“Yeah.” Cora shrugs a little. “I only met him a couple times, and the last time was years ago. So I really don’t know that much about him. Just that he’s dangerous.”

Stiles nods. “Allison, what’ve you got?”

“So, I talked to Dad,” she says. “He knows of Deucalion. He said that up until about ten years ago he was known as a decent alpha, kind of like us – they kept an eye on him but never had a reason to go after him. Until someone decided to go after him anyway. Lured him into a discussion of peaceful terms, ambushed him, killed half his pack and blinded him.”

“Christ,” Stiles says. “Did your Dad know who? Maybe we could track the guy down and give Deucalion his head, and he’d calm the fuck down.”

Allison sighs and rakes a hand through her hair. “Gerard.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Well, that’s out then.”

Allison nods. “And I can confirm the rumor, at least about Deucalion. One of his betas thought he was unfit to be their alpha after that, and tried to kill him. Deucalion killed him first, and then the rest of his pack.” She grimaces a little and twirls her hair around her fingers. “Uncle Julien thinks he’s heard of them. Came across them a while ago and at first he thought it was Justin’s pack until he found out that an entire pack of betas that one of his guys had been keeping an eye on had been wiped out. It struck him as odd because he hadn’t had any trouble with those betas before. And then the alpha was just, poof, gone. I guess Deucalion just roams around recruiting, and he doesn’t seem to like taking no for an answer.”

Stiles nods and glances at Jake, who’s still taking notes. “Get the details of that pack, we can run it past our other contacts. Danny, Mac?”

Danny sighs. “I’ve gotta have more than ‘Deucalion’ to go on. You’d think it would be a rare name – hell, it _is_ a rare name – but there are still over a thousand people in the US who have it. About fifteen hundred, to be precise. But there’s nothing recent in this area connected by anyone with that name.”

Stiles makes a face. “Cora, do you know any of their other names?” he asks, but Cora’s frowning at him.

“Who are all these people you’re talking about?” she asks warily. “Who’s keeping an eye on packs of betas?”

Allison looks at Stiles and gives him a tiny ‘oops’ face. Stiles just shrugs in reply. They can’t keep it from her forever. Derek just looks disgruntled for a few moments, then decides to put it out there. There’s no sense in making Stiles the bearer of what Cora will consider bad news. “Hunters,” he says, wondering if he can get away with that or whether he’ll have to name names.

“What hunters?” Cora asks, her voice thin and tight.

“We have a standing truce with the local hunters,” Scott says, like Derek, hoping he can get away with being vague. “Stiles blackmailed them into it a while back.”

“The same local hunters who burned our family to death in their beds?” Cora asks, her claws digging into the surface of the table.

“No,” Derek replies sharply. “She’s dead. The local hunters who hadn’t known she’d done that to us.”

“She?” Cora asks, tone incredulous. “Like it was _one person_? Are you fucked in the head, Derek?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Derek snarls. “Yes, it was just _one person_. Oh, she hired some fucking drunks and thugs to provide a bit of muscle, and later I found out she paid off the fire inspector, but it was just one person.”

“Well, why don’t you go back in time and tell the assholes who were chasing me through the forest that night that they were just drunk thugs,” Cora replies, her voice layered with sarcasm. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear it.”

Derek freezes. “What?”

“Jesus,” Stiles says under his breath.

Cora folds her arms over her chest, but looks away. “What. Hunters. Are you. Working with.”

Stiles looks at Derek and says, “Chris Argent. He wasn’t involved in the fire. He didn’t even live near here at the time. His sister did it without his knowledge. We’ve worked with him before and he’s good for it. The rest of them are people from – not in this area. That we’ve connected with over the years.”

Derek is still staring at Cora. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “How did you . . .” He stops to take a breath. “How did you get out?”

Cora looks away. “They blocked off the tunnel out,” she says. “You knew that?” she asks, and he nods. “I guess I was just the fastest. I made it out before they closed it.”

Derek just nods once to show that he had heard and then rests his elbows against the table, pressing his face into his palms, thinking that maybe Peter hadn’t gotten everyone after all. Stiles leans over and rubs his back with one hand, almost absently, thinking similar thoughts. “We’re going to have a talk about this later, when this whole Deucalion thing is taken care of,” he says to Cora. “Any detail you can remember about those people might be helpful. If they’re still out there, I want to find them.”

“Why?” Cora retorts. “What business is it of yours?”

Stiles has to take a deep breath and think hard about Gwen’s advice before he replies. “Because,” he says, drawing the words out. “They hurt my lupa. And I will destroy them.”

Cora stares at him for a long moment before looking away and muttering, “Yeah, whatever.”

“I’ll ask if Kate had anyone she worked with regularly,” Allison says. Her voice is quiet but her index finger is tapping against the table in a firm, angry pattern. “I’ll take over when you’re done,” she adds, because this would be hunter business. From the look on her face, it’s clear that she intends to bury these people.

“Can we get back to what’s important?” Cora snaps.

Stiles opens his mouth but just barely manages not to say what he’s thinking, which is that Cora is the one who derailed them by asking for details about the hunters. “Okay. So I’ve got feelers out to Dr. Deaton, Dr. Mulroney, Rebekah, and a few others, but I haven’t heard back from them yet. In the meantime, Cora, it would be helpful to know _how_ you heard they’re coming after us.”

“Just a rumor,” Cora says, with a shrug.

“Aw, sweetie, I know all about rumors,” Lydia says, in that sweet tone that makes sane people cringe. “Why don’t you tell us the ones you heard.”

Cora’s eyes narrow, but then she gives them a dramatic roll, folding her arms over her chest like she doesn’t have time for this. “I was in Mexico. Monterrey. There’s a pack down there that I’ve stayed with off and on. I’ve . . . tried to keep track of Deucalion since we’ve bumped paths a couple times and I like to stay as far away as possible. The local pack down there said they’d heard he was heading to California. I asked if they knew why, and she said ‘to deal with the new alpha in Beacon Hills’.”

“That sounds dire,” Scott says, his forehead wrinkling.

“I don’t like ‘deal with’,” Erica announces.

“Do you know where they heard this rumor?” Stiles asks.

Cora shakes her head. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

Scott is frowning. “Why does this dude even care about us?”

“How should I know?” Cora asks. “He just goes around making people’s lives suck, as far as I can tell.”

“Well . . . that doesn’t seem like a very effective life strategy,” Mac says, her tone perplexed. Several people let out chuckles or snorts of laughter.

Seeing the sour look on Cora’s face, Stiles says, “Simmer down, now. We don’t want Cora to think we’re not taking this seriously.”

“You don’t need to pander to me,” Cora shoots back. “It’s not my ass on the line.”

Mac shrugs. “We’re not pandering. We just . . . need to make jokes. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Cope however you want,” Cora says. “You don’t need to make excuses to me. But I don’t know that I like the plan of just sitting around waiting to die.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “What would you suggest?” he asks, forcing politeness into his tone.

“We could try something really revolutionary and _look_ for him,” she says.

“Some solid surveillance wouldn’t go amiss.” Allison looks at Stiles. “We might be able to find out where he’s holed up if he picked the high-class sort of place he usually likes. But that’s a lot of prying.”

Stiles taps his fingers against the table. “I’ll see if my dad can ask some discreet questions. And I’m still waiting to hear back from Deaton. You just _know_ he’s going to know something.”

Scott snorts. “Obviously.”

Cora’s voice is a little more hesitant. “Deaton?” She glances at Derek. “Was he . . . did we know him?”

Derek looks up at her and gives her a nod. “Yeah. Dr. Deaton. He always took care of us if we were hurt, and gave us our shots. He runs the animal clinic.” He’s not snapping now. His voice is more gentle, in response to her hesitation.

After a long moment, Cora shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”

Derek turns to Scott. “Do you have a picture?”

“Uh, think so.” Scott pulls out his phone and starts sliding through his photos until he finds one of Dr. Deaton, who happens to be holding an extremely large, extremely disgruntled tabby cat. Scott smiles a little at the memory. “Okay, yeah, here he is.”

Derek takes the phone from Scott with a nod of thanks and holds it out so Cora can see Deaton. “Does that help?”

She looks at the phone blankly for a minute. “I guess he looks kind of familiar,” she finally says, with a slight shrug.

Derek hands the phone back to Scott. “I can take you to meet him later, if you want.” He shrugs. “Besides knowing how to take care of us, he knows a lot of magic and . . . a lot about everything.”

“Shit, can you say that again?” Stiles says, fumbling for his phone. “I need to record it for posterity. Deaton will never believe you said it otherwise.”

Derek flips him off. Cora just rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you guys are a fucking circus,” she says, and pushes back from the table. Derek watches her stomp off and then lets his head fall onto his arms.

“Wow,” Stiles says, mostly under his breath. “Wowwwwww. I’m sorry, I just, I’ve got nothin’ else. Wow.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter early because I'm going to be out of town this weekend. Gonna go see if I can catch those Northern Lights that the solar flare is bringing to town! =D
> 
> Also because I love it so. Action! Backstory that I completely pulled out of my ass since JD didn't see fit to provide it! Cookies!

 

“I’m doing something wrong,” Derek finally says. His tone is completely devoid of melodrama. He’s just stating a fact.

“Honey, I don’t think we can help you,” Lydia says, shaking her head. “We got advice from an actual professional and everything, and it still hasn’t helped.”

Stiles sighs and agrees. “I’m not sure we’ll make any progress with her until after we’ve dealt with Deucalion. So let’s do it. Allison, you’re with me. Let’s go talk to your dad and my dad about surveillance.” He bites his lip and looks around at everyone. He wants to get everyone out of the house, so Derek and Cora can have some space, but he also doesn’t want to leave Derek here alone. “Erica, you’re with us. Scott, why don’t you go drop by Deaton’s office, see what he’s up to. Lydia, you’re with him. Danny, Mac, Jake – make a supply run. We might wind up holed up here for a while and I don’t want to run out of food, caffeine, or video games. Boyd and Isaac will stay here with Derek and Cora.”

Derek pulls out his phone and looks at those going on the supply run. “If I tell you what I want, can you stop at the art supply store I always go to?” He’s thinking of the canvases tiling the disaster of the studio floor. He doesn’t have what he’ll need to finish the project he started in a moment of hysterical insanity.

“No problem, Miguel,” Danny says, mostly to see if Derek smiles or not.

Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, I kissed you once,” he says, and Danny knocks his glass of orange juice into his lap. “Right after we first turned you, and you were sleeping,” he continues, pretending to be oblivious to the chaos surrounding the spill. “Like you were Sleeping Beauty and it might wake you up. But these two,” he points to Stiles and Lydia, “were too slow to capture the moment. Just like today.”

“You’re the worst,” Danny says with a groan. “I’ll be in my bunk – ”

“No, you’ll be buying supplies,” Stiles says, smirking. “Go on, everyone has their job to do. Derek, just – call me if you need me, okay?”

Derek texts a list of supplies to Jake. “Just keep the receipt. And don’t have heart failure at the prices.”

“Are you kidding, after seeing how much Uncle Chris spends on ammo in a _week_?” Jake says.

“Pound for pound, the ammo is probably cheaper.”

Stiles gives his head a little shake. “I mean it, Derek. Call me if you need me. You promise?”

Derek nods. “I promise.”

Stiles stands up, and everyone helps clean up the kitchen of what’s left from breakfast so they can do it as quickly as possible. Then they split into groups and head out. Derek watches as the last of them go through the panel – Stiles isn’t allowed to climb over the fence yet, so they have to open it any time he comes or goes, which annoys him. He gives a little half-turn and waves at Derek as the gate closes, and he arms it again. Derek can hear the reassuring hum.

He gives it another minute before going to find Cora. She’s found their training room upstairs, and is working with one of the punching bags with ferocity that makes him wince. He watches her for a few moments before saying, “That won’t help you heal any faster, you know.”

“No, really?” Cora retorts, hitting the bag so hard that it spins away from her and rebounds with twice the force.

Derek steps in to keep it from knocking into her. “Then why are you doing it?”

She grabs it back from him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Cora stares out the window for a long moment before turning and instead saying, “When did Laura die?”

“Almost three years ago,” Derek replies. He had been watching Cora, but at that he turns away, looking into some middle distance between them.

“And when did Stiles become your alpha?”

“About four months after that.”

“Okay. So you were omega for four months. I’ve been omega for six _years_.” She spins and gives the punching bag a solid kick, so hard that it comes unattached from the wall and goes flying across the room. “Does that clear things up for you?”

“No.” Derek has to stop and do the math. “What happened to the pack that you had in there for almost three years?”

Cora goes completely _white_ , and then she runs at him, spinning at the last second to send a kick just as vicious right at his face. Derek drops underneath it without even thinking, sweeping one of his own legs out to try to knock her down. Then he would have a chance to back away from her and try to assess this nerve he had just hit. Cora goes sprawling, but controls the fall, springing back up as quickly as she hit the ground and lunging forward, oblivious or uncaring of the way Derek is trying to back off. She aims a right hook at his chin.

Derek blocks it and tries to spin her away with a blunt shove to her shoulder. He doesn’t want to hit her in the stomach or chest unless he has to. She stumbles backwards, then swears, folding her arms over her stomach and walking away, putting her back to Derek and looking out the window. Derek stares at her back for a long moment. “I’m sorry that I’m not what you wanted. That this pack isn’t what you wanted.”

“I should’ve known better,” Cora says bitterly. “I’m used to disappointment anyway. I don’t know why I even got my fucking hopes up.”

That feels more like a punch to the gut than any hit she could have landed. That he finally has blood family again and she doesn’t even want him. It takes everything he has not to just shift and _run_. Instead he just turns and heads down the stairs to his studio. The door is slammed shut and he has the paint out moments later. Eventually, he loses himself in what he’s working on.

He has no idea how much time has gone by before the door slams back open and Stiles stands there, eyes red and posture tense. “I _told_ you to call me if you needed me. You _promised_.”

Derek cringes for a moment before his alpha’s anger but then rallies. “I didn’t call you because _you can’t fix this_. You can’t make her love me. You can’t make her glad that she’s got a brother at all even if I’m not what she expected. Hell, I should be acting more grateful than I am. What right do I have to be angry about anything she says? I should be happy enough just to find out I have a sibling still breathing.” He leaves out ‘after what I’ve done’, because he’s very sure that Cora would actually try to kill him if she found out that this was his fault.

“Just because I can’t fix it doesn’t mean you’re alone in this,” Stiles says. “You’re _not_ alone. You _always_ have me. Jesus fucking Christ, don’t you _know_ that by now?”

Derek just looks up at him from where he’s kneeling, paint smeared in amongst the canvases, and gives a small, sad, wolf whine.

“Jesus,” Stiles says under his breath, and goes to his knees beside him, wrapping him into a hug. Derek buries his face in Stiles’ shoulder and just clutches at him, fingers digging into his shirt. “We’ll make this right, okay?” Stiles tells him. “I don’t know how we’ll do it, but I’ll figure something out. _We_ will figure something out.”

With a nod, Derek says, “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Stiles smoothes down his hair. “Just be glad that Isaac and Boyd had your back. Boyd grabbed your phone when I called you, and told me that no, I didn’t have to drop everything I was doing to come back here, you were painting, they’d call me if you left your studio.”

“I thought about it. Just shifting and running away.” Derek rubs his cheek against Stiles’ shoulder. “But I knew you’d be pissed.”

Stiles shakes his head a little. “What did she even say to upset you that much?”

“Just the usual,” Derek says, wondering if Stiles will let it slide.

“You know . . . if you don’t tell me, I’m probably just going to imagine something worse,” Stiles points out.

“But you might not act on speculation,” Derek says hopefully.

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “So she said something horrible.” He stands up to go.

Derek slumps in defeat for a couple of minutes after Stiles has left the studio, and then what Stiles is planning finally sinks in through the emotional exhaustion. He bolts to his feet. “Stiles!” He jogs out of the studio and stops to try to listen and find his other, and often-but-not-always smarter, half. It takes him a moment to realize that he doesn’t need to rely on otherworldly senses. He knows exactly where Stiles is going to go, and he runs down the hallway and into the armory. He nearly runs flat into Stiles, who’s just leaving. “You are not supposed to be taking part in any sort of physical exertion,” Derek reminds him firmly, almost, but not quite, blocking his path.

Stiles stares at him for a long minute, then leans over Derek’s shoulder and shouts, “Scott! I’m about to break a whole bunch of the promises I made you!” Then he pushes past Derek and heads up the spiral staircase at the end of the hallway.

Derek follows him, clearly unhappy, and then Scott comes jogging up the hallway, following along on Derek’s heels. “What? Why? What the hell are you up to? Derek, move, so I can slap him upside the head.”

Stiles turns on both of them, eyes flaring crimson. “Cora,” he says pointedly, loud enough that she would be able to hear him no matter where in the house she was, “upset Derek. Cora told Derek that she was _disappointed_ in him. Well, her problem is with _me_ , not with him, and we’re going to settle it.”

There’s a long moment in which Derek is frozen, before he turns away, showing his throat. So much for Isaac and Boyd having his back; one of them had clearly told Stiles what Cora had said. Scott just stares, then nods a little. “I’ll just . . . go get the first aid kits.”

“You do that,” Stiles says, and slams the door to their training room open with one fist. Cora glowers at him from inside. She’s clearly heard what he said. “Okay,” Stiles says. “I’ve tried to be nice about this, but my typical good nature is being _sorely_ fucking tested. I don’t give a flying blue fuck about what you’ve been through. You have _no_ right to come in here and judge your brother.”

Cora’s gaze flickers to Derek, who comes into the room behind Stiles but stays by the door, because he’s not stupid enough to get in his alpha’s way. “You’re just going to hide behind him?” she asks.

“Yes,” Stiles snarls. “Yes, he is. Because I am his _alpha_ and therefore it is my job to stand between him and danger, and I don’t care if that danger is fire or monsters or some little bitch who doesn’t understand how things work around here and who just wants to undo the last three years’ worth of work I’ve done to convince Derek that he _is_ worthy of having a pack, of having a family. I swear to God, if you say one more word to him, I will kick your ass.”

Cora’s chin tilts up. “I’d like to see you try,” she says.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “You and me, let’s go. Right here, right now.”

Cora lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Derek can’t quite stay silent through that. “Cora, don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “You won’t like the results.”

“Oh, I’m really shaking now,” Cora says. “Bring it, bitch.”

Stiles does. He does without warning, darting forward and aiming a fist at her face. She catches him by the wrist and twists him around. He bounces off the wall and comes at her twice as fast, one hand coming out in a swipe across her abdomen. Derek sees the glint of light off metal. He’s stolen one of Allison’s favorite weapons for close combat: a gauntlet with wickedly clawed fingertips. It slashes through Cora’s shirt, but she manages to avoid the worst of the blow.

Cora spins and kicks, and she’s fast, at least as fast as any of the pack members. But Stiles has trained with them for years. He goes into a tumble and lashes out again as he passes her. The claws dig into her calf, and she lets out an involuntary yelp as droplets of blood flash across the floor. Then she snarls, “Is that the best you can do?” and slams a foot down. Stiles rolls so he doesn’t get it in the chest, and gets back to his feet. He’s moving a little stiffly now, trying not to betray the pain he’s in. He hasn’t sparred at all since the gunshot wound, and he’s slower than he should be.

He only barely manages to block Cora’s next punch, catching her fist an inch from his face, and they stand like that for a moment, struggling. Cora has the raw strength to pull back if she wants to, but she’s intent on pushing forward, and Stiles won’t let her. He’s using both of his fists to her one, one foot back against the wall for extra purchase.

“You don’t have a clue what it’s been like for me,” Cora says, low and breathless, “so how about you keep your damned opinions to yourself? You can’t protect my brother, you can’t . . . can’t . . .”

A brief look of confusion flickers across her face. Stiles hooks his other foot around her ankle and she goes sprawling. But he doesn’t follow up. She tries to stand but her body isn’t cooperating. “What the fuck did you do?” she screams.

Stiles holds up the hand with the gauntlet. “It’s venom from a creature called a kanima,” he says. “It’s a paralytic. Works best if you get it in the spine, but actually, any skin contact will do.”

Scott skitters into the room only a second later to stand beside Derek, who’s crossed his arms over his chest to keep from interfering. He’s toting the first aid kits for both humans and wolves, and drops them at his feet.

“That isn’t fair!” Cora shouts at him.

“Nope,” Stiles says. He walks over and puts a foot on her stomach, but he doesn’t rest his weight on it. It’s a reminder, not a threat. “Because _I don’t play fair_. Newsflash for you, Cora. I will do _anything_ to protect my pack. I will cheat, I will fight dirty, I will break _all the rules_ , and that’s what makes me good at what I do. I’m not going to fucking apologize for it. If you don’t like it, I don’t give a shit. I do what I have to, to protect my pack, and the fact that you’re still confused about this after spending almost twenty-four hours in this house just proves to me that you have _no_ idea what an alpha is supposed to be.”

Derek starts to edge forward then, carefully, waiting for a signal that he shouldn’t. Stiles holds up a hand to stop him, but it’s a ‘wait’ gesture, rather than a ‘get back’ gesture. Cora is snarling and sputtering, trying to move so hard that her fingers are twitching, although nothing else will move. “I’m supposed to take alpha advice from you?” she asks.

“Yes,” Stiles says. “You really are. Because not only have we fought off other packs and sorcerers and weirder bullshit than that like fear monsters and kanimas, not only did we come through all that, we did it without losing a single pack member. Jesus, Cora, do you know how many packs splinter when they meet a threat like that? People get scared and run. You know that. You’ve been omega, so I _know_ that you know that. But that didn’t happen to us, because these people _trust_ me to protect them, to deal with whatever comes, and to take care of the pack. _That_ is what makes me an alpha, Cora. Not the claws, not the red eyes, not the blood on my hands. It’s the fact that I keep this pack safe and I keep this pack together, and you simply cannot say I haven’t done that, because here we are.” He steps off her and then jerks his head at Scott. “See to her first. I’m okay.”

“I’ll decide that,” Scott informs him, but he does grab the werewolf kit and head over to Cora first. He rolls her onto her side, into recovery position, with hands that are professionally gentle. “You want me to cut up your jeans or take them off?” Scott asks, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to push or roll them up far enough to suit him. Derek, meanwhile, moves forward again when Scott is given the okay, and puts a hand underneath Stiles’ elbow.

Stiles glances at Derek and just gives him a little nod of acknowledgment. Cora growls at Scott and says, “What do I care, they’re not mine – anyway, get off me, it’ll heal up in a minute.”

“No, it won’t,” Stiles says, trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m an alpha, remember?”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Cora mutters. “How long does this shit last?”

Stiles glances at his watch. “Venom from an _actual_ kanima can last several hours, especially if it gets into your spine.” He talks over her outraged protest and continues, “That, however, was a synthesized version that we’ve been trying to perfect. We’ve got the effect okay, but it’s nowhere near as potent. Only lasts a few minutes. Of course, in an actual fight, that’s more than enough time.”

“Cora, shut up and let me do my job in peace or I swear to God I’ll slip and tape your mouth shut,” Scott says. It’s fairly obvious that his mood isn’t the greatest. “And you owe Erica an apology about her jeans. Even if she does manage to turn them into Daisy Dukes or something.” He pulls out a pair of wickedly sharp scissors and slits the jeans all the way to the knee.

“Well, actually, I don’t want her to shut up,” Stiles says. He sits down heavily, folding his legs underneath himself. “I want her to talk.”

“About what?” Cora snaps.

“About what happened to turn you into the bitch you are today,” Stiles says. “You keep snarling that we don’t understand. Well, _make_ us understand.”

“Okay, well, she needs to stop bitching at _me_ ,” Scott mutters, but he goes about cleaning the wounds off and putting a bandage over them. Derek sits with Stiles, a little behind him so he has something to lean against.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Cora says. “I don’t trust you, okay? I learned a long time ago that trusting people is a great way to get yourself killed.”

“I’m sorry, I just feel like you’re interpreting this as a request,” Stiles says. “It isn’t. You came on my territory, you’re threatening _my_ pack. Maybe not physically, but you’re certainly upsetting the emotional stability. So, from where I’m sitting, you’re an enemy until proven otherwise. So you had better start proving it.”

Scott changes out the first aid kit and kneels down in front of Stiles. “Let me see.”

“You could be a little more specific, Scotty,” Stiles says, but he holds his arms out loosely to his sides to let Scott check him out. His gaze is fixed on Cora, but she’s glaring at him and not saying a word. Scott gives him an unamused look that he’s learned from Melissa and Deaton and starts checking for broken or cracked bones. The silence just continues to draw out, but Stiles has apparently decided to let Cora stew until Scott is done with him. When Scott starts to edge his shirt up, waiting to see if Stiles is going to protest, he huffs out a sigh and just pulls it off, tossing it into a corner. The scar from the gunshot wound is on his right side, a few inches below his heart, a pink splotch with a dimple in the center. Of course, it’s by far not the only scar he has.

“The _fuck_ ,” Cora breathes out, almost unable to hold it inside, when she sees the remnants of violence painted all over Stiles’ skin.

Scott growls a little. “What, do you think he always wins by asking nicely?” He pokes and prods at Stiles for another minute. “I think you’re fine, basically. But take it easy or I swear to God I’ll have Allison drug you.”

“It’s not like she laid a hit on me,” Stiles says, directly the comment right at Cora with a nasty smirk.

“You son of a bitch,” she snarls back, but still can’t manage to move.

“I’m totally serious,” he says. “This is your last chance to tell me why you’re so dead set against trusting people, or I’m going to tie your paralyzed ass up and leave you in the pit.”

Cora’s lip twists and she finally bites out, “Because of Uncle Ryan!”

Derek startles. “What about Uncle Ryan?”

“What, did you think I escaped on my own?” Cora snaps at him. “I was eleven years old, for Christ’s sake.”

Derek’s hand comes up to cover his mouth for a few moments. “I didn’t think you had escaped _at all_ ,” he reminds her. “For the last nine years I thought . . . that all of you had died in that fire, Cora. And for the last three, I had no family except what I made.” He curls into Stiles a little. “Uncle Ryan made it out?”

“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up,” Cora says. She tries to keep her voice bitter and angry, but her eyes are filling with tears. “He trusted another pack and it got him killed.”

Several seconds pass while Derek just watches her and tries to hold out, but then he moves around Stiles and pulls Cora into a hug with her head resting on his shoulder. She allows this because she has to; she’s still limp like a rag doll. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, the words both an apology and sympathy.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” Cora says, but she can’t stop crying now. Hitching little sobs keep escaping despite her best efforts.

“I just am,” Derek says, smoothing her hair back. “I wish we had known. We could have been together.” That thought leads to another, creeping in from the back of Derek’s mind. All this time, Cora had known he was alive, but had stayed hidden. She had no right to judge what sort of pack he had found or built to survive when she had left him alone. But he squashes the thought back down ruthlessly. In the end, he does have his sister back, and that’s the important part.

“I couldn’t,” Cora says. “Uncle Ryan said we couldn’t. We would put you in danger. I _wanted_ to come find you. But people would have hurt you. Hunters. I had already lost everyone else. I couldn’t lose you, too.”

Derek sighs a little and hugs her tighter. “Are there hunters following you now?” he asks. It seems like an important question. If there were, Chris has most likely already told them to cool their heels at the county line.

“I don’t – I don’t know. It always _feels_ like there are, even when they’re not. Jesus. My nose is running.” She shoots a vicious glare at Stiles. “You’re the worst.”

“Guilty,” Stiles says, without a hint of actual guilt in his voice.

Scott just hands Derek a tissue. “Thanks,” he says, although he doesn’t sound very grateful. To Cora he adds, “Let me know if you need me to wipe it.”

“Fuck you,” she retorts, and sniffles.

Derek just shakes his head at her, amused despite himself. “Any hunters, if there were any, Chris would have stopped at the county line.”

“Because you guys are all chummy with the local hunters,” Cora says.

Stiles shrugs and says, “Like I said. I break all the rules.”

“Stiles and Allison have pretty much a zero tolerance for hunter bullshit,” Derek informs her. He sounds like he finds it somewhat amusing.

Cora’s eyes narrow. “Yeah. That Allison girl. She seems to know a lot about hunters. Why?”

“Uh, she is one?” Scott offers, gingerly, with a preemptive wince like he knows it’s going to cause an explosion.

“Way to have tact, McCall,” Derek shoots at him.

“Way to demonstrate hypocrisy, Derek – ” Scott snorts back.

“What do you mean, she _is_ a hunter?” Cora snarls over both of them. “You had better have meant past tense in there, and even if you didn’t – ”

Derek sighs, and it sounds like it’s coming all the way from his toes. “No. Actively. She’s also Stiles’ chief enforcer.” He waits a beat, and when it appears that Cora is too busy gaping at him to protest, he continues. “She’s an Argent, and before you get your panties in a twist about that, I was just as pissed as you in the beginning. They have a moral code that they take _very_ seriously when they aren’t fucking _crazy_ like Kate. The only people Allison and Chris would ever hunt are the same people we would likely take out ourselves for doing things like attacking or killing humans or turning people against their will.” He lets that sit for a few seconds. “She’ll also have some things to say to anyone in her family that would shoot at or hunt down an eleven-year-old girl that just escaped a burning house.”

“Things to say?” Stiles interrupts, lips quirking. “More like ‘arrows to shoot’.”

Cora’s still scowling. “Well . . . I don’t like it,” she snarls.

“Well, don’t like it _nicely_ ,” Scott says. “Because she’s my mate.”

“Of course she is,” Cora mutters.

Seeing that Scott is supposed to ask what the hell _that_ means, and figuring that they don’t need his temper to contribute to the proceedings, Stiles hastily interrupts. “Okay, that’s great and all, but you still haven’t actually answered my questions. I asked what had happened to fuck you up so bad, and you haven’t really been long on specifics.”

“Well, I don’t see why I have to be,” Cora shoots back. “It’s not like any of you are falling over yourselves to tell me who killed Laura.”

Derek pulls taut against her, and then seems to curl in on himself. “That’s because it hurts, and I wasn’t even here for her,” he says. It’s barely a whisper.

“I don’t need a fucking play-by-play, I just need – just – give me the name,” Cora says, her eyes gleaming momentarily blue. “Tell me who killed her, and tell me what happened to him. Tell me the bastard paid for it.”

“I don’t think he even . . . it was Peter. Uncle Peter.” Derek presses his face into Cora’s hair and has to take a long moment before he can go on. “Everything that made him . . . the man we knew and loved, it died in that fire.”

Cora stares at him. Then her gaze whips back to Stiles. “You killed my uncle,” she says flatly.

Stiles nods. “I did,” he says quietly. “I had to.”

“You _had_ to?” Cora chokes.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “He was insane, Cora. All he cared about was revenge. It never would have ended. He killed innocent people, he turned people against their will to form a pack and make himself stronger. It was never going to stop, so I killed him.”

“You . . . you’re lying,” Cora says. “Peter . . . Uncle Peter would never . . .”

Derek just cuddles Cora closer. “No, he wouldn’t have. But he . . . he died in the fire. What was left spent years healing the burns, but what we loved was gone.”

Cora reaches up with one hand and wipes her eyes, and then this seems to distract her. “I can move again,” she says, although her movements are a little jerky, uncoordinated. She starts trying to push herself to her feet. Derek lets her go, almost glad that she seems easily distracted. She tries to get up but then her leg gives out, and Scott grabs her before she can fall. “Shit,” she says, looking down at her calf. “They really didn’t heal.”

Stiles opens his mouth, lets out a breath, and says, “I’m going to go bake something.”

Derek throws his hands up in despair at his sister’s statement. “Oh my God.”

Stiles just shakes his head. “Gingersnaps?” he says to Derek and Scott.

Scott grins like an idiot. “Yeah!” he says. Derek just nods once, possibly having used up his store of expressible emotion for the day. Stiles gets to his feet, but he does it slowly, one hand lingering over the wound in his chest while he does so. Then he extends a hand to Cora. She looks at it like it’s a dead banana slug, but grudgingly accepts it, and Stiles pulls her to her feet.

“I just hope we have enough of everything,” he says, as they head down the stairs.

“If you seriously think the others went to the grocery store and did _not_ buy everything you need to make gingersnaps, you’re tapped,” Scott says. “And don’t even try to say that they might not know what to get. Jake has the recipe on his phone.”

Stiles lets out a snort of laughter and proceeds into the kitchen. The pack is loitering in the general vicinity, and all of them are tense and anxious, having heard his fight with Cora. He lets them check him out and make sure he’s not injured and mark him liberally. Some wolf instincts simply can’t be conquered. He talks with Danny about his computer search for Deucalion for a few minutes, he stands with Lydia and helps her twist her hair up into some exotic-looking knot, he goes over the shopping list with Jake, who always needs encouragement. It takes almost ten minutes for him to make the rounds and subtly reassure everyone that everything is fine.

Cora watches him do this in silence. She looks somewhat annoyed still, as she sits down at the kitchen table and Stiles starts the cookies. Derek hoists himself up onto the counter into his usual spot. “So,” Stiles says, “you gonna tell us where you’ve run into Deucalion before?”

Cora looks away, her hair hiding her face. For a minute, Stiles thinks she won’t answer. But then she says, “North Carolina. I was thirteen.”

Derek does the math. That’s two years after the fire. Cora said she had had a pack for two years. “Does he have something to do with what happened to Uncle Ryan?” he asks quietly, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the counter.

“Not . . . directly.” Cora rubs a hand over her face. “I didn’t even meet Deucalion and his pack until almost a year after Uncle Ryan died. They, uh . . . I don’t know if they came to town specifically to fuck with the pack I was with, or for other reasons, but Duke picked a bone with the alpha of that pack and everyone got wiped out except for me.”

Derek looks at Cora for a long moment, thinking about how little she seems to understand about pack that isn’t blood family, about how she says the pack they trusted betrayed Ryan, about how tough and angry she is. She would have to have been _really_ tough to have survived so long as omega, especially so young. “You weren’t really part of the pack anymore, though, were you? Because of Uncle Ryan.”

“Yeah.” Cora studies the table. “The alpha – this bitch named Shannon – I guess Ryan knew her from school or something. She agreed to take us into her pack. Ryan said it was just – temporary. And that when it was safe, we would go find – you and Laura. Because there were hunters after us. Ryan, see, he was the only adult who survived the fire. Besides Peter, I mean.” She wipes her eyes impatiently. “He was the one who could go tell the police it hadn’t been an accident, that there had been people in the woods, trying to force us back into the house – so the hunters came after him.” Her voice roughens. “And Shannon sold him out in exchange for amnesty for her pack.”

Derek’s usual iron control slips, then, and his claws tear furrows into the counter’s edge. He yanks his hands up and away from the counter. Stiles glances at him, but then seems to decide that there’s really nothing he can say, no comfort he can offer. He continues quietly mixing ingredients, and says quietly, “But not you.”

“The hunters didn’t give a rat’s ass about me,” Cora says. “I was twelve. They didn’t ask so I guess Shannon didn’t tell.”

Derek almost wished that he could hate this Shannon for being wholly without morals. It would have been easier than the raging contempt for her lack of spine which had failed to protect his uncle as part of her pack. She could have sold Cora out, too. But instead she just orphaned her again. “I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead.”

Cora looks away but doesn’t reply. There’s silence for a few minutes while Stiles runs the mixer. Then he says, “But you stayed with her.”

“She wouldn’t let me leave,” Cora says flatly. “Even a twelve-year-old beta adds power to the pack.”

Derek’s quiet for a long moment, his expression a flat mask. “What am I supposed to say to that? There’s no one left to kill.”

Cora lets out a snort of startled laughter. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had anywhere to go. I wanted to . . . go find you and Laura, but I wouldn’t have known how. Uncle Ryan said you guys were on the run, too, because of the hunters, so all I could really do was try to keep my ear to the ground.”

Derek relaxes slightly at getting a genuine laugh out of her, but then he looks away. “We . . . Laura took me to New York City. We did it the long way, driving. A night with an allied pack here, a hotel room there. She got us an apartment in New York.”

“I didn’t know,” Cora says, studying her hands. “But it wouldn’t have mattered if I did. I couldn’t go find you until I could take care of myself.”

“It can’t be changed,” Derek says. “You’re here now.”

Cora nods wearily. Stiles glances over from where he’s measuring and says, “Given those givens, I’d think that you and this Deucalion guy would get along. You know, since you didn’t seem to be a big fan of Shannon and her pack.”

Cora scowls at him. “Duke is a pompous, grandiose, pretentious asshole.”

“That sounds like you just described Danny’s best friend,” Derek says. “Him being all those things doesn’t mean you have to hate him.”

“Thanks for the news flash, Derek,” Cora says.

Stiles puts a bottle of molasses in the microwave and hits a few buttons. “You hate him because he killed Shannon and you couldn’t.”

Cora snarls. “So what?”

“I think he was just pointing it out, not criticizing,” Derek tells her.

“Well, it didn’t need to be pointed out,” Cora says, still glaring.

Stiles lifts his hands in surrender as the microwave beeps. “Just trying to understand where you’re coming from.”

“So how did you avoid the same fate as the rest of Shannon’s pack?” Derek asks, as he reaches up and pulls a pad of paper off the top of the fridge. “Did you help him?” he adds. There’s no judgment in his voice. Shannon let his uncle be killed after promising them safety. He wouldn’t blame Cora if she had helped.

Cora tucks her hair behind her ears. “I wasn’t good for much at thirteen, but I might have made sure some people didn’t get back up after Duke and the others knocked them down.”

Derek wants to ask if the whole pack knew what Shannon was up to, but he decides he doesn’t want to know the answer if it means that innocent people died. He tears a sheet of paper off the pad and starts folding it into a wolf. “And Deucalion decided that made you, what, worth sparing? Or just interesting?”

“Just interesting, I think,” Cora says, with a shrug. “He – I may have said some unkind things to him for not letting me kill Shannon myself.” Her mouth twists into a grimace. “He told me if I wanted her alpha power, to come after him someday and take it back.”

“Did you?” Derek asks. “Want her power, I mean. Or did it not matter that she was an alpha.”

“I just wanted her dead,” Cora says flatly. “But Deucalion said I shouldn’t be the one to kill her.” She looks up and looks straight at Stiles, her eyes gleaming blue. “He said I wasn’t _worthy_ of being an alpha.”

Stiles fumbles the flour sifter and nearly drops it. “Oh, _man_ ,” he says. “What a douche.”

“ _You_ weren’t worthy, but _he_ is? Someone who kills packs for fun?” Derek scowls. “I’m going to kick him in the dick for talking to my sister that way.”

Cora’s lips twitch into a smile despite herself. “Yeah, well . . . like I said. He’s an asshole. After he blew through town, I didn’t . . . have anywhere to go, or anything to _do_ , so I sort of . . . just wandered on my own for a while.” She shrugs. “I’d stay with other packs, but I never _joined_ one. And never wanted to. And then I heard about Duke, heard that there was an alpha in Beacon Hills again . . . so I came here.”

Stiles glances at Derek but doesn’t say what he’s thinking. He’s glad Cora’s being more open with them, but that leaves a big gap in her life. Five unaccounted for years described as ‘wandering on her own’. Wandering where? Was it really possible that she had simply missed hearing all the fuss about Stiles’ existence as the first human alpha? The boy in red who had defeated Sebastian Stone and challenged the elders at their own Conclave?

There was out of the loop, and there was ‘in a cave on Mars with her head buried in the sand’, and Stiles simply can’t fathom how she didn’t have any of this information. But she clearly hadn’t had it; her surprise and contempt over Stiles had been genuine. Stiles decides to drop it for the day. Cora has given them a lot, and it’s been a rough day for all of them. He devotes his efforts to the cookies, and makes a double batch. Everyone deserves it.

Cora clearly doesn’t want to talk anymore, so Derek distracts her by pulling out his sketchbook and showing her some of his drawings. This seems to mellow her out a little. She’s obviously tired. Stiles quietly makes them both some tea and simply deposits the mug next to her without asking for acknowledgment.

The pack is hovering a little as the first batch of cookies comes out of the oven. “Wait your turn,” he says, as they eye the cookies greedily.

“We’re not here for them,” Danny says. “We’re here for her.” He tilts his head towards Cora.

“What? I – oh. The virgin cookie face,” Stiles says, shaking his head but laughing a little.

“Come on, if _anything_ can make her look happy, it’s got to be those cookies,” Erica says. “And if she’s going to smile, we’re going to see it.”

Cora scowls at her. “I’m not going to smile,” she says.

She doesn’t. She glowers her entire way through the cookie that Derek gives her absolutely no choice in eating. Then she eats five more of them without prompting, glaring the entire time.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm finally trying to get on with the plot now. Five and a half chapters of Cora sulking is probably enough. XD

Cora sleeps in the bedroom that night. She seems a little surprised at the way they have things set up, like she hadn’t expected a pack with a human alpha to understand the way a wolf pack would want to curl up together at night. But she doesn’t say anything about it. Stiles doesn’t tell her to sleep elsewhere because he doesn’t want to force Derek to shift between wherever she sleeps and wherever he sleeps and be a zombie the next day.

He doesn’t bother to ask the others to set up a watch because he knows they will. None of them will be that comfortable with the idea of her sleeping near him. She’s been _less_ hostile over the past few hours, but that’s not much of a qualifier, given where she started. He would offer to take a shift, but he knows after the strenuous physical activity of the day, nobody would let him, so there’s no point.

But he’s determined for the next day to be a normal one, so when he wakes up from a bad dream around five AM, he just gets up. He starts baking, and makes the cinnamon muffins that Derek likes so much. He leaves the rest of breakfast until after the morning drills. Derek comes down around eight AM, along with Isaac and Allison, who are both early risers. Before long, the rest of the pack are up and milling around. Cora comes down looking a little fuzzy and confused, like she didn’t remember what it was like to get a good night’s sleep and her body isn’t sure how to handle it.

Derek passes her a mug of coffee and tries to get a look at her calf to see how much it’s healed. He’s glad to see that someone has loaned her a pair of loose gym shorts and a tank top, clothes she can work out in, and he won’t have to argue with her over what she’s wearing on top of whatever else he’s sure she plans to be snippy about.

Erica’s gaze lands on the muffins. “Breakfast?” she asks.

“Drills first,” Stiles says simply.

“But not for you,” Derek tells him, then hands him a mug of coffee to hold off any arguments.

Stiles argues anyway. “I’ll take it easy.”

“What drills?” Cora asks, at the same time.

“Self-defense drills two or three times a week. Combat once a week,” Derek informs her, before turning his attention to Stiles. “No. Maybe if . . .” He cuts himself off because he knows why Stiles got into a fight with Cora, and he isn’t in a position to argue about it. But on the drills, he can argue. “Just no. Not this week.”

Stiles huffs out a sigh. “Okay, fine, but I _will_ be starting again next week.”

“I’ll let you take it up with Melissa,” Derek replies, deciding to just be a coward and get out of the line of fire. Several people give snorts of laughter at the way he’s dodging the bullet.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, as they head outside, “I made those cinnamon muffins you like. It’d be a shame if something happened to them.”

Derek stops mid-step and gives Stiles a look that he hopes conveys how sorry he is, even though he won’t back down on the issue of Stiles’ safety and well-being. “I’ll put in a good word for you, okay? Just . . . just don’t hurt the muffins.”

Stiles fake sulks for a minute, but then laughs. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Go do your stuff. I’ll just make breakfast.”

As the rest of them head outside, Cora looks at Derek with a raised eyebrow and says, “Don’t . . . hurt . . . the muffins?”

“Screw you, those muffins are my favorite,” Derek says, although the words are without heat.

Cora just raises her hands in surrender while there’s a chorus of giggles from the rest of the pack.

Derek narrows his eyes at them. “You’re all the worst,” he proclaims. But he leads them out into the usual place on the lawn. “Just start with the basic stretches. We’re going to go a little slower than usual while I walk Cora through the routine.” Derek stops next to his sister to start stretching out the muscles in his shoulders and arms. He obviously expects her to follow suit, and she does.

“So . . . everyone does this?” she says, looking around at the group. Jake is groaning a little while Allison pushes on his back to help him reach his toes. Lydia has a hold of one ankle, pulling it up over her head while several of the others watch in admiration. She looks bored. All the others are doing their own stretches, without prompting.

“Yep.” Derek rolls his neck a little, although it’s more to get the kinks out of it than an actual stretching exercise. “Not everyone is a fighter, but we’ll be damned if anyone is going to die while waiting for help to get them.”

“That . . . that’s good,” Cora says. Her jaw firms up a little and she says, “I mean, that you have a training program. You should.”

Derek moves on to touching his toes. He’ll take the compliment, as awkward as it is. “No one had any combat training before joining the pack. Except Allison, and she only had a little. Everyone who’s a wolf besides me is a turned wolf, so they didn’t grow up knowing what to do with these,” he adds, gesturing with his claws, “naturally like you and I.”

“Yeah, well,” Cora says, “I guess it’s a good thing it came naturally to me.”

“I’m . . . sorry that you were alone,” Derek says. He doesn’t think she meant it as an insult, but still, he has to respond to it. “I’m glad you decided to come find me.”

Cora doesn’t reply per se. Instead, she just finishes stretching and says, “If you guys are really that awesome, you’d better teach me something new.”

Allison looks over, her eyes narrowing, and then a bright smile spreads over her face. “I think I can handle that,” she says brightly. A little too brightly.

Scott clears his throat and intervenes. “Maybe you should keep working with Lydia and Mac,” he says. “I can work out with Cora and Isaac.”

Allison’s eyes narrow. “You’re lucky I love you,” she says, and flounces over to the others.

“Oh, geez,” Scott says, watching her go with a hangdog expression. “I’m gonna sleep on the sofa for a week now.”

Isaac rubs at his curls. “Oh, yeah. I’m not even sure groveling will save you.”

“Offering sexual favors might!” Erica calls over cheerfully. “If you need suggestions, let me know!”

“That would at least be something new to teach Cora,” Scott mutters, and several people burst into giggles.

Derek looks like he has a headache coming on. “Erica, I’m pretty sure that at least half the things you do are illegal in most states.”

“Lies!” Erica says in mock outrage. “Slander! Calumny! Which, by the way, what the fuck is calumny anyway?”

“It’s basically just another word for slander,” Derek tells her.

Cora is standing there impatiently. “Are we going to work out or not?” she asks.

Allison whips around. Lydia stops her with a hand on her arm, whispering something in her ear that causes her to subside. Boyd hastily intervenes and says, “Yeah, uh, we usually start with some drills, so – ” he gets them going. Cora huffs but goes along with their routine of jumping jacks and push-ups that get them all warmed up.

When they do break down into groups, Derek ends up going with Danny and Boyd, trusting his sister to Scott and Isaac. He actually feels a little bad for them. Not because his sister is so good, although he allows it’s possible, but just for having to deal with her attitude. They do all right, though. Once they’re in sparring mode, ‘down to business’ as Cora would put it, she settles down some. They’re werewolves, betas like her, and thus her equals. “You guys are actually . . . really strong,” she says somewhat reluctantly, after her second round with Isaac. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of packs and sparred with a lot of wolves, and I haven’t met many as strong as you.”

It’s not exactly a surprise to the pack. Each member adds strength to the group, adding together into a greater whole. They’re a medium-large pack that’s tightly bound. Even those who haven’t seen much combat, like Danny and Mac, are stronger than the average beta werewolf.

“In all fairness, I’m one of the enforcers,” Isaac says, although he knows it isn’t that simple.

“And because we’re really close,” Scott says, thinking that Cora might honestly not know. He can remember how much weaker he was at the beginning, while Peter was still alpha, and it had nothing to do with how recently he had been turned. “Close enough that even the humans in the pack get a boost.”

Cora’s jaw sets in that expression that’s growing familiar, the mask of anger she wears to hide her pain. “Yeah, most of the packs I’ve known . . . haven’t really been like that.”

“It takes work,” Scott replies, and then shrugs. “I don’t know how normal it is, either.” He’s about to say that to a certain extent they pay for it, too, with the sheer _need_ for closeness that they had, but then decides against it. No one trusts Cora enough to give away information like that if it isn’t common knowledge.

“What kind of work?” Cora asks, with a note of sarcasm in her voice that actually comes close to pure Hale sass. “Do you guys hold hands and sing Kumbaya?”

“Pretty sure that Stiles knows all the words to that, actually,” Scott says.

“I . . . never really thought about it having words,” Isaac adds.

“Well, for God’s sake,” Lydia says, looking over from where she’s working with Allison, “don’t you dare go in there and ask Stiles, because he _will_ demonstrate, and nobody wants to hear him sing.”

“I’ll just, you know, look it up,” Isaac says hastily.

Cora fiddles for a minute. “But, how did you . . . I mean, most of the packs . . . that I’ve met . . . they’re not close like this because they just . . . wanted power. That’s why they turned others and that’s why the people who became betas chose to be turned. You guys . . . don’t seem like that at all.”

This question attracts some attention; several of the others look over. “I just wanted a family,” Isaac says, and some of the others nod.

“And some of us were turned against our will by other alphas, so we know the whole ‘doing it for power’ thing is kind of bullshit,” Scott says, carefully not mentioning that one of those alphas was Peter.

“Maybe that’s why it’s different,” Cora mumbles, and then aims a vicious kick at Isaac’s knee while he’s distracted. Isaac takes the hit but grabs for her to yank her off balance and take her with him. They grapple for a few minutes before she grudgingly admits defeat. But the exercise seems to have mellowed her out some.

She certainly doesn’t protest breakfast. Stiles has supplemented the muffins with a gigantic pile of cheesy scrambled eggs, and everyone starts stuffing their faces. He’s too keyed up to eat himself, and mostly shoves his eggs around on his plate while he talks. “Okay, folks, here’s the long and the short of it. There’s no sign of Deucalion on our territory or anyone else. Everything’s been quiet, no upswing in crimes or calls to the police. Cora, I gave your description of Deucalion and his second to my dad, and he’s had his officers on the lookout. As far as we can see, he’s just not here. At least, not yet.”

He stops and lets out a breath. “Now, I don’t know if the rumor you heard was incorrect, or if he’s lying low, or what. But we can’t hide here forever, so I’m calling off lockdown. As of now we’re under the buddy rule. Groups of three would be better if possible, and I still want everyone staying at the den by sunset. Is this going to be a problem for any of you with jobs?”

“You guys want to come watch me drive a Zamboni, right?” Boyd asks, and several others laugh. “Seriously, I don’t work until Friday, so I’m at least good today and tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind hanging out at the rink,” Erica says. “Good place to pick up guys.”

“How are you going to have sex with anyone if we’re under the buddy rule?” Lydia asks archly.

Erica’s eyes go wide. “Shit! Stiles, you’re responsible for making sure that I don’t go nuts.”

“Are you kidding? Sex with you is at least three times as strenuous as the morning drills that you guys still won’t let me do,” Stiles says, amused. “But all joking aside, Erica, Lydia is right. I don’t want any of you going alone with a stranger. Alphas can hide their presence, and that makes us all vulnerable. So you’re going to have to go without for now. You’ll make it.” He glances around the table. “Allison, Mac, any conflicts with your schedules?”

“I can do all my web design stuff from wherever my laptop is, so I’m good,” Mac says.

“I don’t have any more tournaments this summer, so I’ll miss some lessons, but that’s all,” Allison says.

Stiles nods. “Scott, like usual, you’ll be fine at Deaton’s without company. Just make sure you don’t come and go by yourself.” He’s quiet a minute. “I think that’s everything. Obviously, if any of you hear or see anything unusual, report it immediately.”

There’s a round of nods. Boyd and Isaac start cleaning up in the kitchen. Derek is about to help, but then he gets a text. He glances at his phone and smiles a little, that soft, genuine smile of his. Then it quickly turns into a frown. “What’s up?” Stiles asks.

“Oh, it’s Jennifer,” Derek says. “She thought we could meet for coffee, but I guess . . .”

“No, you should go,” Stiles says, shoving back his jealousy as unreasonable. “You can’t stay cooped up here any more than the rest of us. And I think some time to . . . decompress . . . might be good for you. You know, get away from all this for a couple hours. A couple of the others can just go hang out in the coffee shop. You know, shadow you. Or something.”

“I’ll go,” Danny says. “I’ve got a craving for a caramel macchiato anyway, and I can bring my laptop.”

“Me too,” Lydia says, “to the caramel, not to the laptop, but I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

“Well . . . if you’re sure,” Derek says, more to Stiles than to either of the other two betas.

Stiles isn’t sure at all. He hasn’t met Jennifer since that day at the gallery, and he’s trying to stay out of this because Derek has a _right_ to this, damn it, he has a right to friendships outside the pack and casual sex if he wants it. He can’t explain the burning jealousy, he knows it’s irrational, and so he’s staying as far away from Derek’s friendship with Jennifer as possible. “Sure I’m sure,” he says. “I’ve got some letters to answer and then I’ll probably take a nap, so it’d be boring to hang out here anyway.”

“Okay,” Derek says, smiling again and leaning over to rub his cheek against Stiles’ hair.

Cora sits there, looking awkward and left out. Mac offers her a bright, friendly smile and says, “So do you have any stuff with you? I mean, you had to borrow clothes from Erica, right?”

“Yeah, I . . . I guess,” Cora mutters.

“Why don’t we take you shopping to grab a few things, then?” Allison suggests. She still seems pretty annoyed at Cora in general, but her kind-hearted nature is taking over, the more time goes by. “We could go down to the mall for a little bit.”

“No, you shouldn’t . . .” Cora says.

“Good, that’s settled,” Mac says.

“I’ll drive,” Allison agrees cheerfully.

Stiles smiles at them and makes a mental note to make sure they both get something baked that they like in the next day or two as thanks for them making Cora feel welcome even after everything she did. “Have fun!”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Things settle into an uneasy truce for several days. Nobody is exactly happy with Cora’s surly presence, but they’re trying not to push for more than she can give. Stiles reminds himself of what Gwen had told him several times a day. Cora has had a rough life. He needs to take it easy on her. Which actually isn’t so difficult, since she doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. She hangs around Derek, but always in the background, like a shadow.

When Stiles shows up, she often huffs away. She’ll tolerate him, but she certainly doesn’t like him. It’s clear in everything she says and does that she still thinks that Stiles isn’t good enough for her brother. Stiles is getting used to it. To be honest, it bothers Derek more than it bothers him. He sees Derek open his mouth to say something, then grimace and look away.

The others aren’t exactly oblivious. Stiles has to start making sure that Cora and Erica are never in a room together, because Erica _hates_ Cora with a screaming passion that cannot be put away. Scott has a tendency to talk loudly about how awesome Stiles is, whenever Cora is around. Everyone is tense and there still hasn’t been any sign of Deucalion and Stiles is starting to get anxious about it. He’s leaving for school in less than a month. He has a million things to do. He doesn’t need this right now.

In an effort to clear the air a little, he asks Cora to go for a walk with him, out on the preserve. He thinks that the chance to talk privately might get her to get some things off her chest. But she stalks along in silence, just as moody as ever. So Stiles talks, because he doesn’t like silence, and he talks about Derek, because he thinks that that’s what Cora really wants to hear about anyway.

He tells her about Derek getting his gallery set up, about the look of amazed joy on his face when he sold his first piece to a stranger, when he won an amateur art contest about six months after Stiles became the alpha. He tells her about Derek deciding to build the den, and all the different plans and blueprints they cycled through as things got added to the structure. He tells her about when he and Derek had talked over the whole lupa issue, and made peace with it, and how lucky he is to have Derek in his pack.

She’s actually starting to relax a little and even asks a few questions, like how they chose the other pack members and whether or not Derek still sleeps on his back with one leg in the air. Stiles keeps chatting with her while they wind their way through the preserve, but he’s starting to get an edgy feeling, the kind where the hair stands up on the back of his neck.

He starts steering them back towards the house, careful to be subtle about it, rather than just turning them back around. He’s considering texting Derek or Allison when they come around a stand of trees and see a man standing on the path about ten feet away.

He’s tall, head and shoulders about Stiles, and the tank top he’s wearing reveals impressive musculature, more than any member of Stiles’ pack. His head is shaved completely bald, and he’s shifted the tiniest amount, just enough to show his fangs.

Cora sucks in a breath, and Stiles thinks it’s a good bet that she recognizes this behemoth, whoever he is. His own senses have gone on high alert, because the alpha in front of him isn’t trying to hide his presence any more. He can’t feel any others, though. Just this one. He goes tense and then his muscles relax as he gives the guy a nod and says, “Hey.”

The guy just sneers at him as he starts forward. Polite conversation clearly isn’t his forte. Stiles would prefer to put off a fight until the others can get there – he can take care of himself, but still, there are limits to what he wants to take on alone – but that clearly isn’t going to happen.

“Ennis,” Cora says, taking a few steps forward, raising her hands in a gesture of supplication. “You shouldn’t – ”

The man’s arm shoots out and catches her across the stomach, flinging her into a tree. She hits it with an ‘oof’ noise as the air is knocked out of her lungs and then goes sprawling on the ground.

It takes less than two seconds, but it’s more than enough time for Stiles. He takes the little vial out of his pocket, popping the cap off with his thumb, and dashes the liquid into Ennis’ eyes just as the hulk turns towards him. He lets out a noise that’s almost a roar, as much pain as rage, and staggers back a few steps, clawing at his face. Stiles drops to the ground, taking out his knife as he goes, and slams it down into the man’s foot with all his strength. It goes clear through his foot and several inches embed in the ground.

“Jesus _fuck_!” Ennis swears. He tugs on his foot and then makes a strangled noise of pain as the silver in the notches of the knife grinds into his skin.

“So about that pleasant chat I was trying to have with you,” Stiles says, as Cora manages to scramble back to her feet. Ennis swipes at him with one hand, claws out, and Stiles just ducks backwards and gives him an unimpressed look. “Dude. If you want that knife out of your foot, you’re gonna have to calm down.”

“Fuck you!” Ennis retorts, and tries again to free himself. But he can’t use his full strength with the silver pinning him down.

“Play nice,” Stiles says. “I’ve got three more vials of wolfsbane where that first one came from. If you don’t want me pouring one down your pants, you’re gonna have to pay attention.”

Ennis growls at him, but subsides, giving Stiles the sort of glare that promises mayhem and murder later.

“So my guess is you were sent here to grab me and drag me back to see Deucalion so he can recruit me for whatever little boy band he’s got going,” Stiles says. “Nice try. Tell him if he wants to see me, to try doing the civilized thing and giving me a call on this newfangled device called a telephone. He can leave a message for me at the sheriff’s station – I’ll get it. Give me a time and a place, and I’ll show. Think you can remember all that?”

Ennis bares his teeth, but then sullenly nods. “You’re gonna regret this, kid,” he snarls.

“I’ve heard it before from scarier people and still, no one’s ever been able to follow through.” Stiles glances up. His pack is approaching. “I’m gonna take this knife out of your foot, and you’re gonna beat feet, because in about fifteen seconds the rest of my pack is going to be here.” He crouches down and yanks the knife out. Ennis howls in pain, then shakes it off, snarls one more time, and limps over the rise.

Stiles quickly ascertains that Cora is only bruised, not concussed or otherwise badly damaged. Nothing seems to be broken, and she’s steady on her feet. She clearly thinks he’s completely out of his mind, but Stiles doesn’t let that bother him. He’s used to it. Moments later, Derek comes running up in his wolf form, shifting as he skids to a halt. “Are you all right?” he demands.

Cora blinks between the two of them. “How . . .?”

“Tightly bound packs can tell when someone is in danger,” Stiles tells her. “Yes, Derek, I’m fine. Not even a scratch.”

Derek looks over at Cora. “You?” he asks. His gaze shifts over their shoulders to scan for any enemies while waiting for an answer.

Cora bristles. “I didn’t lay a finger on him,” she snaps.

Derek’s eyes roll so hard that it’s an actual full head motion. “No, I meant, are you okay, are you hurt?”

“Oh.” Cora shifts from foot to foot as the rest of the pack runs up behind Derek, most of them at least partially shifted. “No. Just a little bruised.”

Scott immediately moves forward to check her over, but gives Stiles a questioning look. Stiles glances at Cora and says, “That alpha tossed her into a tree but she bounced right back. Not too bad.”

This makes Scott relax. “That’ll heal, then, since it was collateral damage and not a direct injury.”

Allison and Isaac move over to stand by Stiles. Isaac is partially shifted and Allison has her bow in hand. “You need us to go take care of him? Or her, whatever,” Allison asks.

Stiles gives his head a shake. “I gave – ”

“You are fucking _crazy_ ,” Cora interrupts, now having recovered enough from her shock to express her opinion about what had just happened. “Are you out of your God damned _skull_? When you have an alpha down, you _kill_ that son of a bitch. You don’t just let them go!”

Isaac and Allison turn to Cora almost in unison. Isaac looks a little affronted at the interruption, but it’s Allison who speaks. “Okay, I’m starting to like you more in general, but did you just interrupt my alpha when he was dealing with pack business? Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

Cora opens her mouth as if to say that she’d like to see Allison try, but then she apparently remembers the way that had gone with Stiles, and looks away, scowling. “It was still an idiotic thing to do,” she snaps.

“Hey, how about you – ” Isaac starts.

“That’s enough,” Stiles says, but he reaches out and gives Isaac’s forearm a squeeze to show that he’s not angry. “I gave him a message to take back to Deucalion.”

Isaac steps a little closer to Stiles, but he doesn’t tense up, so he clearly got the message that Stiles isn’t angry. “What did you do to convince him to carry it?”

Stiles grins a wolfy grin and says, “Let him go.”

Allison slings her bow over her shoulder and crosses her arms, giving him an expectant look. Stiles sighs as if to say that nobody appreciates his sense of drama, then says, “I nailed him in the eyes with wolfsbane and then pinned him to the ground by putting my knife through his foot. He seemed really pissed off about it for some reason.”

Cora is just staring at them. “Crazy,” she says. “You’re _crazy_.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “I really can’t argue.”

“What was the message you sent him with?” Isaac asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“That if Deucalion wants to meet with me, to do something civilized like send me a message through the sheriff’s department rather than sending his thugs onto private property.”

“I’m going to start tasing people,” Derek huffs. “Is that legal?”

“You know, I don’t know,” Stiles says thoughtfully.

“You should have killed him,” Cora persists.

Stiles gives her a look that’s almost pity. “I’m not a killer, Cora. Not unless I have to be.”

“And!” Mac calls out cheerfully from the back of the crowd, “if he calls Papa Stilinski at the sheriff’s department, maybe we can get the phone number and use it to find out all sorts of things about him.”

“Yeah, things that wouldn’t matter _if he was dead_ ,” Cora retorts.

“Killing Ennis won’t get rid of Deucalion any faster,” Stiles says, and shakes his head. “It’s done. Let’s get back to the house.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, meet a bunch of alphas that I invented for Deucalion's pack! ~~I am so sorry.~~
> 
> Also, some questions about Cora will be answered.... *dramatic music*

 

Deucalion is prompt. Stiles will give him at least that much. It’s barely been an hour before Stiles’ father calls and says that someone called and left a message for him at the front desk. The address is an abandoned distillery outside town, and the time given is the following morning.

“At least it’s not a haiku,” Stiles says, and several people laugh. “Let’s go scope it out. And by ‘scope it out’ I mean ‘let’s set up some motion-activated cameras to see if we can get shots of them coming or going’.”

“Why?” Cora asks, giving him an eyeballing.

“Because you never know what might come in handy,” Stiles says. He grabs his equipment and several wolves and they head out. Cora spends about five minutes rolling her eyes at his baseball bat. Stiles doesn’t bother arguing with her. The distillery in a fairly empty clearing, and the road leading to it is cracked and pitted from years of disuse. It’s made mostly of corrugated steel, and it looks solid enough. Being abandoned hasn’t hurt it very much. There are some weeds growing inside, but that’s all.

Stiles rigs up a camera inside. There isn’t a good place to hide one that can be aimed at the door, so after some thought he hooks one up in a tree on the road that leads to the refinery. That will be good enough to get a shot or two of whatever car or cars they’re using. He supposes Deucalion can’t drive, being blind, but presumably the others can.

“So are we all going?” Boyd asks that night, as they chow down on homemade Chinese ribs.

Stiles nods. “Yeah. This is a show of strength. Everyone’s going and I want everyone in full gear. Allison, you’re going to be the exception; I want you covering us with your bow, so find an elevated spot and set up there.” He frowns a little, looking around the table. “Jake, I think you should make sure it’s all right with Chris if you come along.”

“Oh, come on,” Jake says, almost whining.

“You’re not an official member of this pack yet,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “And I know you want to be, but with all of us leaving at the end of the summer, it’s better for now if you’re not. So I can’t take you along without Chris’ permission. We can call him after dinner.”

Jake wrinkles his nose but goes back to his dinner. They debate placement and strategy for a while. Stiles has obtained Google Earth photos of the distillery and they plot out different escape routes just in case things go bad, talk about where to rendezvous, and who should stay with who. Once everything is settled to his liking and all the food has been eaten, he calls Chris.

“So, we’re going to go meet Deucalion tomorrow,” he says, and Chris grunts. “I don’t expect it to be dangerous. It’s a meet-and-greet, circling and butt sniffing. As far as I can tell, this guy’s MO is to make the offer in relatively good faith and things only get messy when it doesn’t work out. But I want to check in with you because Jake wants to come with us.”

Chris sighs. “Stiles, I don’t think . . .”

“You asked me to give him time to get his feet under himself,” Stiles says. “I respected that. It’s been a year. I know he’s not an adult yet, but he’s sixteen now. That’s how old I was when I became the alpha. If I was old enough to make that choice, then I think he’s old enough to make this one.”

“Let me talk to him,” Chris says.

Stiles agrees and hands the phone over to Jake, who says, “Hi, Uncle Chris . . . no, I want to go. I know. I _know_.” There’s a long pause. Jake says, “Look, you and Aunt Victoria are awesome and I, I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. It _wouldn’t_ have been a good idea for me to join Stiles’ pack a year ago. I wasn’t ready. You were right about that. You and Aunt Victoria have helped me a lot. But Stiles is the one who saved me. It’s time I started paying that back.” Another long pause. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Uncle Chris.” He says goodbye, hangs up, and hands Stiles’ phone back. “Okay, I can go.”

“Okey dokey,” Stiles says, and ruffles Jake’s hair. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this, because Jake’s cheeks are tinged pink and he’s obviously embarrassed. “Good to hear.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles is relieved to see that the alphas are waiting outside for them, so they don’t have to worry about going into the distillery itself. He glances over his shoulder and gets a nod from Scott, meaning that Allison’s in position. He slides his hand into Derek’s, twining his fingers through the older man’s, and walks forward. His betas spread out into a V behind him. Isaac is at his other side, with Scott right next to him. Cora has claimed the spot next to Derek, and every muscle in her body is tense with the need not to spring into action.

“So you must be Deucalion,” Stiles says, giving the man a thorough onceover. Other than the tinted sunglasses, he’s fairly average. Nobody that Stiles would give a second look on the street. He’s still masking his presence, so Stiles can’t get a really good lock on how strong he is. The pack standing behind him is anything but average. It’s a motley assemblage not unlike Stiles’ own pack.

“And you must be the famous boy in red,” Deucalion says, smiling. His voice is smooth, slightly accented.

Stiles looks down as if to check the color of his sweatshirt. “Yep, that would be me.” He decides to try to keep things polite. “This is Derek, my lupa.”

Deucalion gives Derek a nod. “Allow me to introduce my pack,” he says. “You’ve met Ennis, of course. An old friend of mine.” He gestures to the woman standing on his left, a petite Japanese woman wearing biker leathers. “This is Tsukiko. She proved true the legend that a wolf can become an alpha if he or she kills a thousand betas.” Another gesture to the man beside Tsukiko, who’s cleaning his fingernails with a knife and looking bored with the proceedings. “JC. The only alpha to have ever survived failing the alpha trial. Until you, of course.”

Stiles thinks about pointing out that technically, he didn’t fail, but he decides to leave that alone for now. He doesn’t like the look of JC, though he can’t put his finger on why exactly. Something about him just sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. Deucalion is continuing the introductions. The woman next to Ennis is tall, statuesque, dark-skinned and beautiful. “This is Felisha, the world’s only born alpha,” he says. Next to her is the last alpha, who Stiles would think was an albino if he didn’t have liquid green-gold eyes. “And Fang. The only alpha were-human.”

This gives Stiles a really fascinating set of questions to ask, since he didn’t even know were-humans or born alphas were a thing, but he shelves them for a later time. He’s not about to ask Deucalion, and he has more important things to deal with. He thinks for a long moment about how best to respond to all of this pomp and ceremony. Finally, he says, “Are you done?”

“I beg your pardon?” Deucalion asks, his smile going a little thin.

“You can quit bragging,” Stiles says. “I know why you’re here; I know what you do. Believe me, I’m well-aware that I’m the only human alpha in documented existence. I’m very impressed by your group of curiosities. But I have no interest in being the crown jewel of your collection.”

Felisha and Ennis both growl at him. Stiles doesn’t respond. Deucalion says, “I gave these wolves a place to go. A place to _belong_.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles says. “I’ll sign off on your petition to win the Charles Dickens award for the alpha who’s taken in the most lost souls. But I have a place. I have a pack. And not so incidentally, that means you’re on my territory. And I’d like to cordially invite you to get the hell off of it.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you,” Deucalion says.

“I understand it perfectly well. You’re offering me power. And I don’t want it,” Stiles says bluntly. Deucalion raises an eyebrow. “I learned pretty early on the difference between a good alpha and a bad alpha. I learned that there are two schools of thought. The alpha who gathers power for himself, and the alpha who gathers power for his pack. The alpha who uses his betas to make himself stronger, and the alpha who protects them. So let me tell you how uninterested I am in being the former type of alpha. When I look at you, I don’t see a pack. I don’t even see wolves. All I see are a bunch of murderers.”

Several of the alphas start forward, and Stiles can feel his betas going tense at his back. But Deucalion lifts a hand, and they subside. “You’ll come around, you know,” he says. “They always do. The first time you kill one of your own betas, and you _feel_ the power that you’ve gained. You’ll understand then.”

Stiles stares at him, then says, quietly, “Do you know how I killed Sebastian Stone?”

Deucalion tilts his head to one side curiously. “Actually, no. It’s a subject of great debate.”

“I reflected one of his spells back onto him,” Stiles says. “It wasn’t the first time I had used magic, but it was by far the most power I had ever channeled. And it felt amazing. Words can’t describe it. I felt like I could do anything. Like I could conquer the world. That was pure, undiluted power.”

“So you know what I’m describing,” Deucalion says, smiling again.

“Yep. And I’ll never feel it again. Because after that, I went to Dr. Deaton and had my magic stripped voluntarily.” There’s a ripple of surprise, as there always is, when he drops this news. “Because it felt so amazing, I knew that if I let it, it would control me. Power is great, but not at the expense of who I want to be. So think about _that_ , when you’re so sure that if I kill one beta, I’ll kill them all. It’s not going to happen. Even if you do manage to somehow get me to do it – through magic or tricks or sheer force – the first thing I’m going to do? Is take the power I just gained and cram it down your throat. I’ll make you eat every millijoule.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Deucalion says.

“Yeah, well, feel free not to take your time,” Stiles says. “Because this is kind of a busy time for me. I’ve got class schedules to worry about, trolls to feed, libraries to pack, long-lost sisters turning up – it would be awesome if you could get the hell off my territory sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Deucalion says. He’s clearly amused. “And little Cora. Have you come to take Shannon’s power from me?”

“I came for my brother,” Cora growls at him.

“Well, maybe you should talk to Stiles about coming with me,” Deucalion says. “Go find yourself an alpha to kill and then your family can have your territory back.”

Cora’s back stiffens a little. She shoots a glance towards Derek, sees the way Derek’s fingers are twined through Stiles’. Then she turns back to Deucalion and says, “Only if the alpha I get to kill is you.”

Deucalion chuckles. “Dream a little dream, Cora,” he says. Then he turns and walks away, and the other alphas turn and go with him. Ennis scowls over his shoulder at them, but the rest of them don’t seem to care.

Stiles shakes his head a little. He waits until the alphas are out of sight, and then he turns and heads back towards the Jeep. Cora is still staring at him like he’s completely lost his marbles, but he gathered that people don’t stand up to Deucalion very often, so that really doesn’t surprise him. The drive back to the den passes mostly in silence.

As soon as they’re back, they gather in the living room. Mac is already hard at work on her laptop. “Okay,” she says. “I’ve got good face shots of all of them and I’ve e-mailed them to your dad. He’s going to run them through facial recognition, see if we can get any more information on them, and see if he can figure out where they’re staying. There were no cars anywhere near the distillery, so I guess they probably walked there.”

“Okay.” Stiles nods and lets out a breath. “Okay. I’m going to go call Justin and see what he knows about these guys. You guys can just . . . you know. Chill.”

He takes his phone and heads for a quieter part of the house. He winds up in the study, where there’s enough room for him to pace, before texting Justin. He has no idea what time it is in Italy, or if they’re even still there. He knows that they don’t always bother with the time zone of where they are. Still, it seems polite to at least text before calling, so he does, a simple message that says, ‘you up? call me if so’

‘roaming charges are a bitch,’ Justin texts back a minute later, and then Stiles’ phone rings. “You’d better appreciate everything I do for you,” Justin greets him.

“I’ll send you a care package,” Stiles says, amused. “I’ve got some names for you, that Deucalion is calling a pack. Thought you might recognize some of them, be able to give me some details.”

“Shoot,” Justin says. “I’ve got you on speaker.”

“A born alpha named Felisha, a were-human named Fang, some psycho killer named Tsukiko, and the, quote, only person to survive losing the alpha trial, JC. Oh, and some hulking behemoth named Ennis.”

“Huh,” Justin says. “I’ve heard of JC, sure, but that was before my time. I think I’ve heard of Felisha. The only one I’ve met was Tsukiko. We couldn’t give her a trial because she didn’t have a pack. A couple of us wanted to kill her on general principle, but Kali overruled us.”

“Of course she did,” Stiles says.

“I think – what?” There’s muffled noise of Justin talking to someone in the background. “Hang on. Rindi wants to talk to you. He knows more about this than I do.”

There’s some shuffling, and then Ravinder’s voice comes over the phone. “Namaste, Stiles. You do live an interesting life.”

“It’s a curse,” Stiles agrees. “So what do you know about these characters?”

“JC is the one I know best, of course,” Ravinder says. “That was quite some time ago. Before Trevor’s time, even. Ten, perhaps twelve years ago. An interesting case of a feud between two born wolf families somewhere in Alabama, I think.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, making a note of that. That’s Julien Argent’s territory, so he might know something about it, too.

“They had been fighting over territory for years. Finally, one family – not JC’s – won. There were few survivors. JC was one of them. He in turn killed the alpha of that pack and took control over the family that had killed his own.”

“Ouch,” Stiles says.

“Yes. It was messy. It’s not unheard of for a newly made alpha to have gained betas he has no interest in having. Imagine if Peter Hale had had willing lackeys, for example. You would not have wanted them in your pack. The generally accepted thing to do is cast them out, make them omega, or at the least a beta pack. JC did not do this. He kept them, and he tormented them with his control over them. Valerie – she was our leader at the time – made it plain that this was not acceptable behavior. She told him that he could either cast out his betas, or fail the trial. Instead he killed them all and ran.”

“Jesus,” Stiles says.

“We pursued him, of course. That’s how it works. But the hunters who were on our tail as always took advantage of our distraction to attack us. We lost two of our own that day, and by the time we had rallied, JC was far ahead of us. We’ve run across rumors of his whereabouts several times since then and tried to track him down, but never succeeded. So yes, he does remain to this day the only alpha who has ever failed the trial and lived to tell the tale. If you could keep him in Beacon Hills until we’re able to get there, we would, of course, be grateful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stiles says. “What about the others? How can there be a born alpha?”

“A curious circumstance,” Ravinder agrees. “Her mother was a beta who killed an alpha during late-term pregnancy and somehow willed the power into the child during birth. Nobody is sure of how that occurred. She never had a trial. How could we judge someone who had been an alpha since her first breath? I have met her several times. I’m surprised to hear that she joined Deucalion. She had a pack she seemed content with. I only met her lupa, who was a Druid, quite a powerful one, for that matter. I wonder what happened to her, if she was killed and her loss . . . changed something in Felisha.”

“Where was she from?” Stiles asks, hoping it’s somewhere useful.

“I’m not sure exactly. Somewhere in the Midwest.”

Stiles sighs. “Okay. A were-human? How does _that_ happen?”

“A wolf, an actual wolf, gets bitten by an alpha and shifts into a partial human.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out on my own,” Stiles says, “but what the fuck? How?”

“It’s extremely rare,” Ravinder says. “It only occurs if the wolf in question has some human lineage.”

Stiles blinks. “What’s that mean, human lineage?”

Ravinder coughs politely. “If a werewolf, in their wolf form, impregnated an actual wolf, who had cubs.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and he hears Justin laughing his ass off in the background. “ _Oh_. Oh geez. That’s kind of . . . gross.”

“I agree,” Ravinder says.

“So then one of those cubs gets bitten and becomes partially human, wow, okay,” Stiles says. “This is really educational. I ought to send Deucalion some sort of thank-you card for all this education I’m getting. Have you heard of this one specifically? Fang? He’s all white except gold eyes.”

“No. I’m sorry, I have not. They tend to be feral, and are quite often mute.”

“Okay. That leaves Ennis and Tsukiko. And Deucalion himself, of course.”

“I don’t know anything about Tsukiko beyond what Justin already told you. She’s viciously unlikeable. Ennis, again, I’m somewhat surprised about. He passed the trial about ten years ago without issue; he and his pack seemed to have no problems with each other. Deucalion underwent the trial nearly twenty years ago, again, passing without trouble. I heard that he lost his eyesight in a hunter attack and it drove him mad, but I don’t know much detail about it.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Stiles says. “Okay. Thanks for the intel.”

Justin’s voice suddenly comes back on the line. “Seriously, about JC,” he says. “Him being there changes shit. We’re in the middle of a trial, so we can’t drop everything, but we’re going to head your way as soon as we can.”

“Will it impinge upon your reputation if something dire happens to him before you get here?” Stiles asks.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Justin says. “Dead is dead.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up and goes back downstairs. He’s edgy and he wants to move, but he knows that any suggestion he makes about sparring is going to get shot down. He heads into the kitchen and starts making peanut butter brownies.

He can’t stop thinking about what Deucalion’s next move is going to be. It’s obvious that he plans on trying to force Stiles to kill at least one of his betas, on the presumption that once he does so, the rest of his pack will be fair game. The idea makes Stiles’ stomach twist. He obviously has no intention of doing anything of the sort, but he knows he lives in a world of magic and monsters.

None of Deucalion’s pack are sorcerers, as far as he could tell. Werewolf sorcerers are exceedingly rare and their magic is unpredictable. So magic is out. But there are still ways. Stiles thinks of different scenarios. He closes his eyes and imagines a knife at Derek’s throat, imagines facing the idea of killing one of his betas or watching Derek die.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, and Stiles jumps a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, shaking his head no without intending to. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Derek frowns a little but lets it go. “Okay. What are you making?”

“Peanut butter brownies,” Stiles says. “I’ve got some new intel. Once I hear back from some other people, we can sit down and go over it together.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “I’ll be in the studio if you need me.”

Stiles nods. “Okay.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles grills ribs and makes corn on the cob and they eat outside, since it’s a gorgeous summer evening. While they eat, they keep the conversation to light, inconsequential topics. It’s only after they’re done and the wet wipes have been passed around that Stiles says, “Okay, guys. Let’s go over a few things, and then there are peanut butter brownies.”

“Bitchin,” Erica says happily.

“I’ve talked to Justin and Ravinder,” Stiles says, “as well as Julien Argent and a couple other people. All jokes about Deucalion being a douchecanoe aside, this is not a situation I think can be taken lightly. As Cora already told us, they’ve successfully wiped out entire packs in the past. Now, those packs were not us. And from what I can tell, if Deucalion planned to kill us all, he would have tried as soon as I refused. Apparently, it’s unusual for him to press the offer past the initial meeting.”

“That’s probably because you’re the human alpha, right?” Scott asks.

Stiles nods. “That’s my assumption, yeah. Because he’s a ‘collector’. He doesn’t want to take no for an answer. Now, I’ve thought about the sort of thing he might do.” He lets out a breath. “Simply put, the most obvious answer is that he’ll put a gun to someone’s head and say he’ll kill them if I don’t kill one of the pack.” He’s quiet for a minute while the pack shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not going to lie, guys. I’m susceptible to that. If it was my dad, or Derek. I don’t know what I would do. Obviously, I don’t want to hurt any of you. But I tend not to respond well when my dad is in danger, and I can’t exactly put him in protective custody. The fortunate thing is that I don’t think Duke has done enough research to realize that’s a viable option. My guess is that he’ll target members of the pack.

“So. In those circumstances, what I’m going to do is, in legal jargon, recuse myself. I trust you guys. All of you. You are the best pack any alpha could ask for. So if Duke has a gun to Derek’s head, it is _your_ job to save him, before I can go off the handle and do something I’ll regret. Obviously, our methods might have to change depending on the situation. If I think I can’t handle whatever’s going on, I’ll let you know. But don’t be afraid to make a move without my say-so, if you think I’m losing it. Especially you, Allison.”

She nods and says, “That sounds reasonable.”

“Secondly,” Stiles says, and pours himself another glass of iced tea. “Let’s not forget that these are alphas, and they seem to be a lot more powerful than your average alpha. I was a little unsure of that, given all of Duke’s sound and fury, but from the reports I’ve gotten, it’s true. They really have gained a lot of strength by killing their own pack. So if there are fights, you’ll probably lose. Surrender if you need to. Don’t force them to hurt you. Understood?” He looks particularly at Scott, Isaac, and Erica when he says this. Erica grimaces, but all three of them nod.

“Last but not least,” Stiles says, “again, these are alphas. Which means that killing any one of them will make _you_ into an alpha. With the exception of myself, Allison, and Jake, of course.” He sets down his glass. “Any of you are worthy enough to be my equal. I mean that. But being an alpha isn’t easy, even if you’re in a pack with more than one. I don’t want any of you afraid to take a shot, if you get it. But think about the consequences before you do.” He fidgets a little. “It’s Duke’s move. We’ll have to wait and see what he does. We may have some backup, though. Duke wasn’t lying when he said that JC had failed the alpha trial. Justin says they’ve looked for him in the past to even the score. When they finish up the trial they’re in the middle of, they’ll be on their way.”

This brightens some of the worried faces at the table. Cora stares hard at Stiles and says, “Yeah, what did Duke mean about that? That JC was the only one who failed the trial ‘until you’? You said you passed it with flying colors.”

Stiles sighs a little and says, “Both of those things are untrue. I _did_ pass it, regardless of what Duke thinks. He just doesn’t understand the internal mechanics of the alpha pack and he thinks I cheated. I didn’t. But I didn’t pass with flying colors, either. The alpha pack has one leader, who makes the decision about pass or fail. But if the rest of the alphas unanimously agree, they can overrule him or her. That’s what happened in my trial. Kali failed me, because she didn’t think a human could be an alpha, and also because she was psychotic and possibly in love with your big sister Laura in an extremely psychotic sort of way. But the rest of the pack stepped in and overruled her. Some people have phrased it like I staged a coup in the alpha pack to avoid failing, but the fact is that I _did_ pass, and the fact that they cast Kali out afterwards was only because I brought to their attention things that _she_ had done.”

“Such as?” Cora says, still glowering at him.

Stiles is getting used to her glare. It reminds him, nostalgically, of Derek. “Such as work with hunters to get the previous alpha pack leader assassinated because she was pissed off at him,” he says, and Cora grimaces. “And yes, Kali was killed right after they cast her out, but that had _nothing_ to do with me. I was basically just lying on my ass, half-dead, in a pile of leaves, while she picked a fight with the hunters who were in town.”

“You were really only like a third dead, let’s be fair,” Lydia says tartly.

“That’s true,” Stiles says cheerfully. “I’ve been a lot closer to dead than that. Both before and since.”

Cora shakes her head at him. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says. “Now who wants brownies?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s midafternoon the next day when Cora approaches Stiles in the kitchen. He’s carefully measuring out batter into muffin tins. It’s quiet throughout the house. Scott and Allison are canoodling in front of the television, and Derek hasn’t been seen outside his studio in hours, but otherwise the house is empty. The others all have work and packing and families to attend to. They’re still under the buddy rule, but they can’t sit around and wait for Deucalion to try to kill them. Stiles tenses when he hears the noise behind him, but relaxes a little when he glances over and sees her standing there.

It’s obvious that she feels awkward and ill-at-ease, one hand rubbing at the opposite arm, lower lip firmly tucked between her teeth. But she plows straight into the conversation like the bulldozer she usually is. “Can we talk? Privately?”

“Sure,” Stiles says. “Right this second, or can it wait until I’ve finished this up?”

Cora shrugs. “It can wait, I guess.”

She doesn’t sound particularly confident, so Stiles finishes measuring but puts the trays of muffins into the refrigerator rather than the oven. They’ll keep. “C’mon, we can go out back,” he says, fishing out his phone to text Derek, in case his lupa finished working and came to look for him. They go out the back door and he gestures for her to take a seat on the rocking chair. Then he perches up on the railing, facing her. “What’s on your mind?”

“I know you don’t trust me,” she says abruptly. “I guess I wouldn’t either, if I were you. And I thought . . . there was no way you could be what you were saying you were. To Derek. To the territory. To _anything_. But then, yesterday . . .”

She trails off. Stiles says nothing, letting her come to her own conclusions.

“I’ve never seen anyone stare down Duke like that,” she finally says. “I’ve seen alpha werewolves twice your age bare their throats to him, whine and lick his boots like omegas. I didn’t think . . . I’m not sure if you’re insane, stupid, or both. Or if . . . if you’re actually capable of one tenth of the stuff the others say about you, maybe you’ve got every right to look Duke in the eye and tell him to eat shit. I don’t know. I really don’t. But I love my brother. I would do _anything_ to protect him.” Her voice cracks. “Do you believe me?”

“I do,” Stiles says.

“Then I thought . . . maybe I should explain a couple things to you. Where I’m coming from. So you understand why I reacted the way I did.”

Stiles would love to hold her upside down and shake her until answers tumble out. But he says, “You don’t have to tell me anything before you’re ready. If Derek is your priority, then we’re on the exact same page.”

Cora lets out a breath and looks away. “Maybe. But you should know. Because you need to be able to tell the others that you trust me. Because I see the way they look at me, always on guard, watching your back. And I don’t blame them for that. But I think it’s a distraction that we can’t afford right now. We have enough problems without them constantly worrying that I might try to kill you.”

“Well, you do have a point there,” Stiles says.

“It’s not like I lied,” Cora says. “I didn’t. I just, you know, skimmed a lot over the last few years. Which of course you fucking noticed. But the truth is, I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how vulnerable it would make me look.” She huffs out another breath and says, “And I guess I was embarrassed. I came in here acting like the big, bad bitch, and I didn’t want to admit that I walked right into a hunter trap and got put in one of their prisons.”

“Oh, jeez,” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t want to admit that either, if it helps.”

Cora gives a snort. “I was, uh . . . I was there for years. I don’t really know how long. Time blended together. I didn’t bother to count the days because I didn’t really want to know. And I just . . . you can’t imagine that place. I mean, the Geneva Convention has never been within fifty miles of it. They kept us chained up, all the time. Isolated in individual cells. Not even meals together. The only time I ever saw anyone else was during . . . the experiments.

“They would take groups of us, different ages and stuff. Injure us and then time how long it took us to heal. Test drugs on us. Cut . . .” Her voice falters. “Cut parts off and then wait to see if they would regrow, or if they could be sewed back on, would the nerves and skin regenerate. Tests to see how long we could survive underwater, whether or not we could be revived after drowning or suffocating. I saw . . .” She has to stop talking for a minute, her claws digging into the arms of the chair. “I saw so many people die. But I survived. I didn’t know how or why, but I did.

“I would sit in my cell by myself and, and _dream_ of the day that I would see my family again. I would play out all these different ways that it would happen. I dreamed of Laura and Derek breaking in and rescuing me. Of coming home and finding that I could be safe again.” She stops again and clears her throat. “That’s why I was so upset when I met you. This . . . this isn’t a bad thing, what you guys have built. But it wasn’t what I wanted. What I needed. After so long dreaming of it.”

She stops talking altogether. Stiles gives her another minute, waiting to see if she’s going to say anything else. Then he takes a deep breath, pulling himself together. Her story wasn’t easy to listen to, and there’s going to be a reckoning for what’s been done to her. But that’s not something he can deal with right now. “How did you get out?”

“I’m . . . still not sure, to be honest,” Cora says. “The cells were mountain ash. There was no way out of them. And we were chained up. In these collars that made it impossible for us to do a second stage shift. We were never free, not even for a few seconds. But then a few weeks ago, I realized it hadn’t latched properly. So, you know . . . I took it off. Then when they brought me breakfast, I just shoved the door open and ran. And somehow I got out. I wound up in the middle of the desert and I just ran until I couldn’t run anymore.”

“That’s interesting,” Stiles says. He doesn’t like it. It seems like they might have let Cora go on purpose. But what would the point be? It wasn’t as if they needed her to lead them to Derek. Everyone in the hunter community knew exactly where he was. Still, it couldn’t hurt to be cautious. “Cora, if you’re willing, I want you to come see Dr. Deaton with me tomorrow. I want to make sure nothing they did was . . . permanent.” Deaton will be able to address her overall health _and_ figure out whether or not magic had been done that might turn her into a sleeper agent.

Cora nods and says, “Yeah . . . I guess that would be a good idea.” She says it in a way that means she knows what Stiles is thinking, and doesn’t blame him for it. “I, uh . . . I should tell you one more thing.” She looks away, letting her hair hide her face. “I can’t shift all the way anymore.”

Stiles blinks. “Do you have any idea why not?”

“I can shift to the partial form just fine, but . . . because of the collar, I couldn’t shift into a full wolf for years. And now I . . . I just can’t. It’s like there’s some block there that . . . when I try, it’s like pushing at a wall.”

Stiles nearly chokes on the rage he feels swelling up when he hears the bottomless despair in her voice. “Well, we might be able to fix that. Danny had a really hard time shifting when he was first turned, and we developed some strategies to help him with it. So we can always try a few things. Deaton might be able to help, too.”

Cora nods and says nothing. It’s clear that she’s ashamed of it, that she’s basically admitting that she considers herself a liability when she wants nothing more than to be an asset, to protect her brother.

“C’mon,” Stiles finally says, standing up. “I think now would be a good time for you to see what Derek’s up to in the studio. And . . . you should talk to him about this, if you can. He won’t think less of you. I promise.”

“Oh . . . I guess. I’ll think about it, I mean.” Cora looks reluctant, but she follows Stiles back into the house, then into the studio. Derek is working on a large painting against the far wall, and he looks up when they come in. There’s a smear of paint on his cheek, and under other circumstances, Stiles might laugh at him.

Instead, he propels Cora gently over in Derek’s direction and says, “Okay, you two just . . . hug for a few hours. I’ve got some work to do. I’ll be back soon.”

“You won’t go alone,” Derek says, although he doesn’t protest the idea of hugging his sister.

“Nope. Gonna take Allison and Scott and maybe Isaac, too, if he’s around. See you later.”

“Okay,” Derek says. He’s already distracted by his sister, who’s timidly pushing her face into his shoulder like she’s not sure what sort of reaction she’s going to get. Derek wraps both arms around her and then sits down, pulling her into his lap so they’re cuddled together.

Satisfied, Stiles turns to leave the room. Then something occurs to him and he half-turns back to look at her. “You know, you were wrong about one thing. There’s at least one other person besides me who’ll look Duke in the eye and tell him to eat shit. You.”

Cora ducks her head and presses her cheek against Derek’s shoulder. “I guess I did,” she says.

Stiles gives her a parting smile and leaves the studio. He finds Scott and Allison in the guest room. They’re rounding second and not thrilled to be interrupted, but it’s obvious that Stiles is deeply upset, so they don’t complain too much while they get their clothes back on. “Where are we going?” Allison asks, quickly securing her hair into a bun.

“I need to go talk to your dad about a few things,” Stiles says. He waits until they’re in the car to briefly explain the situation with Cora.

“Shit,” Scott says, summing things up. “Does Derek know?”

“Not yet. I’d prefer to let Cora tell him herself, so we’ll wait and see what happens. If she doesn’t, I will.” He hasn’t given them any details. It’s not their business. And he doesn’t intend to tell any of the other pack members where Cora has been. He’ll just tell them that they’ve talked, and he’s one hundred percent sure she can be trusted. That will satisfy them.

The lights in the Argent house are on, and there are no extra cars in the driveway, which is good. It means they won’t interrupt anything. Victoria pokes her head out of the living room when they come in, and says that Chris is in the basement. Stiles sends Allison down to have him come upstairs. There are some places he’s probably never going to be able to handle with any amount of aplomb; the Argents’ basement is one of them. And he’s going to need all the self-control he can get during this conversation.

Chris comes upstairs wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. “Stiles,” he says, a little cautious, but with nowhere near the reserve of a couple years past. “What do you need?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the prisons where hunters have been keeping werewolves.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has all three plotlines at once! =D
> 
> It also has a visual aid! How sad is that! If you want to see the map that Chris draws while sketching out hunter territories, [check it out](http://gingersnapwolves.tumblr.com/post/98343617029/hey-look-a-visual-aid-for-this-chapter-of-tsoip)!

 

Chris is obviously wary of Stiles’ inquiry; he takes his time thinking about how to respond. “Why are you asking me this now?”

Stiles takes out his phone and pulls up a picture he took of Cora the previous day. “This is Cora,” he says, showing it to Chris. “I just got finished listening to her tell me about the last few years she spent in one of those prisons. About how they would give her different drugs to see how she responded. About how they injured her over and over again so they could time her healing. About how – ” He practically chokes on the words. Scott’s hand squeezes down on his shoulder, grounding him. He stops and takes a breath.

“It was academic before,” he says. “I knew I couldn’t do anything about it, so I tried not to think about it. I told myself that the vast majority of the people in those prisons, werewolf or no, had probably done something to deserve being put in them. But she was a _child_. She was a child and they _tortured_ her. She can’t remember how to shift, Chris. She’s a _born wolf_ who can’t do the full shift because of what they did to her. She’s Derek’s sister, who escaped the fire that night and ran and kept running until they caught her.” He has to stop to take another breath, which is fine. Chris looks like he just got knifed in the gut.

“You know me, Chris,” Stiles finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens his eyes again, they’re crimson. “You _know_ me. So you’ll understand what it means when I say that I am _this close_ ,” he holds out two fingers, an inch apart, to demonstrate, “to declaring war on the hunters and killing the fuck out of any of them who isn’t you. For the love of God, help me direct this anger towards the people who deserve it.”

“Jesus,” Chris mutters. After a moment, he jerks his head towards the kitchen and says, “C’mon. I need a drink.”

Stiles nods and follows. Chris gets a beer out of the fridge for himself, and offers the teenagers a soda. Scott and Allison take one. Stiles asks for water instead. Chris pours him a glass and then takes a swallow of his beer.

“I first found out about the prisons when I was twenty-five,” he says, after a minute to gather his thoughts. “I had a question about a werewolf who had escaped during a hunt. About how long they could survive in subzero temperatures. I mentioned it to a friend of mine – well, more of a colleague than a friend. Jim Stoddard.”

“Stoddard.” Stiles rubs his hands over his face. “The name’s familiar.”

“You met his niece, Sally, at the Conclave,” Chris says.

Allison elbows Stiles gently and says, “Veruca.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles says, then frowns. “But I don’t think that’s where I’m recognizing it from. I feel like I’ve seen it written down before.” He shakes his head when he can’t remember where. “Never mind. They’re bigshots, right?”

Chris nods. “They’re the biggest family on the East Coast. Anyway, Jim is older than me by about ten years. He said, basically, that it was a good question and he didn’t know the answer to it. I basically let it drop and didn’t think much more of it. But he called me about a month later with an answer. I wanted to know how he had gotten it. So he told me. They’d taken a few werewolves and found out.”

Stiles tries to keep his fists from clenching. “Okay. And?”

“I discussed it with my father,” Chris says. “He assured me that only werewolves who deserved to be there were there.” He takes another swig of his beer. “I’ve always known that not every hunter follows the code. And I saw it as . . . a necessary evil. There are things we’ve learned that we’ve been able to use against werewolves that have probably saved lives. Like the sonic pulse emitters and the right voltages to use.

“To be honest, I basically saw it as an extended death penalty. Cruel, yes, but not . . . lasting. I figured most werewolves were probably dead within a few weeks of being imprisoned, given what my father described as happening there. I didn’t know anyone was ever held longer than that until this past Conclave. And it never, _ever_ occurred to me that they would keep a child there.”

Stiles nods slowly. He believes Chris. “How many of these places are there? Who runs them?”

“I know the Stoddards run one, which is . . . hang on. We need a map.” Chris abruptly pushes away from the table and comes back with a sheet of paper. He sketches out a rough picture of the United States. “There are about a dozen major hunting families or cooperatives in the United States right now, and that’s separating out each Argent clan from each other.”

“Cooperatives?” Scott asks.

“Like Stella Jones up in the Northwest,” Chris says, still drawing quickly. “She’s not from a family, but she’s gathered some like-minded individuals. Then you’ve got Aronsson up north, the Stoddards in the Northeast. They both have a lot of territory because they’re both big families. Julien’s down in the deep south. Us in California, the Gutierrez family in the southwest. Henry Argent’s territory is in Indiana and Illinois. The Winchesters here on the plains, Arnelle in the Smoky Mountains, although not so much anymore.” He continues to tap the map. “Nazario here, Martin Drake and his guys here, Peretti down in Florida, and this Bible-thumping group of crazies in Texas. That’s about everyone.”

“How much do you know about the Gutierrez family?” Stiles asks, sipping his water. He’s calmed down a lot, now, although he still feels on edge.

“Not a hell of a lot,” Chris says. “I’ve met a few of them on and off through the years. Why?”

“Cora says they had her in a collar to keep her from shifting,” Stiles says. “The wrists and ankles get skinnier, you know, but the neck gets bigger. I’ve seen collars like that before. Ruben Gutierrez used them when he captured half my pack last winter. Cora says she escaped into a desert and wound up in Mexico, so odds are good she was in the Southwest somewhere. That’s the Gutierrez family’s territory.”

“Well, I know that they do have one, down south of Tucson, so that seems likely,” Chris says with a slight nod. He sighs and adds, “The Stoddards have one somewhere in Vermont, I think. And there’s one in Wyoming. Those are the only three that I know of.”

Stiles’ back stiffens. “Is that Mikael’s territory?”

“No,” Chris says, shaking his head. “He’s further north than that. Montana, the Dakotas, I think Minnesota. That’s Nazario land. The family Vivien was from . . . and Victoria.”

“Okay.” Stiles relaxes a little. Then he lets out another breath. “Okay. That’s enough to go on for now, I think.”

Chris looks a little apprehensive. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Stiles says. “I need to think about this, talk it over with some people.”

“I have . . . a concern,” Chris says. “If Cora came from one of these prisons. How did she get out? You have to acknowledge the possibility that she was released on purpose.”

“I know. I’m going to have Deaton check her out. Hopefully there aren’t any grenades under the hood.”

“Let me ask a few questions,” Chris says. “I’ll be discreet. I know who I can and can’t trust. If people are escaping from the prisons, someone will know about it. Let me see what I can find out.” He sees Stiles hesitate and says, “Stiles, I don’t like this any better than you. I’ve got your back on this.”

Stiles nods. “Okay. Thanks. Let me know what you find out.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

By the time Stiles gets home from the Argent house with the others, Derek and Cora have emerged from the studio. Since Derek isn’t a pile of frothing rage, Stiles can conclude that Cora hasn’t told him anything about where she’s been. Which is fine; it’s her choice to make. The two of them are on the sofa, watching television. Stiles makes a quick call to Deaton to see if they can stop by. It’s approaching the end of the work day at this point, so he’s not surprised when Deaton says to come by the clinic in about an hour.

An hour gives Stiles just enough time to make a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, which he personally hates but Deaton likes, and he tries to make a batch whenever he’s asking the veterinarian for a favor. Then he approaches the two Hales on the sofa, waiting until their episode is over. Derek has apparently decided he’s going to introduce his sister to My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic. Cora is enthralled despite herself.

“This is . . . not the sort of thing I usually like,” she says, when she sees Stiles looking at her.

Stiles lifts his hands and says, “Hey, I don’t judge.” He grins when Cora wrinkles her nose at him. “Thought we’d take a trip down to the clinic to see Dr. Deaton.”

“What for?” Derek asks, looking up.

“Just to get Cora checked out. I’m not a doctor, after all.”

Derek frowns, clearly suspecting that there’s more to it than that. He looks between the two of them, and then Cora ducks her head and says, “It’s a good idea. I already said it was okay.”

“All right,” Derek says, getting to his feet. The three of them get into the Jeep. Derek doesn’t ask Stiles where he went, although Stiles knows that Derek knows him well enough to have realized he was upset about something. They’ll talk about it later. He’ll get some of the details at Deaton’s, at least. They park in the back and stroll in through the back door, which Deaton has left unlocked.

The veterinarian looks up as they come in, wearing his usual warm smile. “Stiles, what can I . . .” he begins, and then he sees Cora standing behind them. His eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Cora?”

Derek blinks, then looks at Stiles. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I – honestly it didn’t occur to me,” Stiles says. “I forgot that he knew you guys as kids.” He clears his throat. “Uh, Dr. Deaton, Cora, Cora, Dr. Deaton.”

“How can you be alive?” Deaton asks, moving over to her and extending both hands to take hers into his own.

Cora’s flushing pink and studying the floor. “I ran really fast,” she mutters.

Derek gives her shoulder a squeeze, and Stiles says, “Cora escaped from the house with her uncle, who was killed about a year later. She’s been around the block a few times and we just thought we should get her checked out, make sure there are no . . . surprises.”

Deaton lets go of Cora’s hands and says, “I’m sorry. Normally I’m the one being vague and cryptic. You’re going to have to give me a hand here, because I don’t actually know what you want me to do.”

“He wants to make sure I’m not some sort of sleeper agent,” Cora bites out. Derek blinks at her, then looks at Stiles, who gives a little shrug. Cora keeps her gaze trained on a spot on the far wall as she continues, “I spent some time captured by some hunters, and we’re not really sure if I made a daring escape or if they wanted me to get out.”

Since Cora’s given them the basics, Stiles adds, “I think it’s very unlikely, but I just want to be sure.”

“Of course,” Deaton says. “Cora, if you would?” he says, gesturing to the door down to the basement. She nods, squares her jaw, and starts down the steps.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Derek asks, looking awkward.

“I’ll be okay,” she says. Deaton gives Derek a reassuring smile and then follows her, closing the trap door behind them.

Stiles sighs and leans his elbows against the exam table in the center of the room. He’s suddenly, wretchedly tired. He hasn’t even thought about dinner, and texts Jake to tell him to order some food if the others are hungry. They’ll be turning up at the den soon enough, now that it’s the dinner hour. He startles a little when Derek rubs his back with one hand.

“How much time?” Derek finally asks.

It takes Stiles a minute to track the conversation back and figure out what Derek is asking. “She’s not sure. A couple years, probably.”

Derek’s jaw tightens, but he seems to have come to the conclusion that Stiles isn’t giving him details because he doesn’t want to violate Cora’s privacy. “What are we doing about it?”

“Chris is looking into it for me,” Stiles says. He sees the look on Derek’s face and gives a little sigh. He knows that Derek has never quite forgiven Chris for some of the things his family had done. Allison, yes; Chris, no. He doesn’t blame Derek for that. Even though he himself trusts Chris one hundred percent, there’s a lot of trauma there that Stiles simply can’t heal. “He has his own reasons, Derek. He doesn’t like the idea of people keeping children in these prisons.”

“Okay,” Derek finally says.

“I know which one she was in and who was probably responsible,” Stiles says, “but for the moment, my primary concern is making sure that she escaped legitimately. Not that she was let go for some sort of nefarious purpose. Yes, we will deal with these people. But we kind of have bigger fish to fry at the moment, don’t you think?”

Derek looks at Stiles with full Eyebrows of Judginess employed. But then he sighs. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Stiles squeezes his wrist. “We _will_ deal with this,” he repeats, and Derek nods.

About another twenty minutes pass before Deaton comes upstairs with Cora in his wake. “She’s fine,” he says. “To the best of my knowledge, there’s been no magic done on her.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Thanks.” He holds up the package of cookies and says, “I’ll just leave these here.”

Deaton looks amused, probably because he’s told Stiles many times that the bribery and/or payment isn’t necessary, that he’s always happy to help, that he made Talia Hale a promise about looking out for her children. He bids them good night, and they head back to the den. Cora seems quiet and a little subdued. Stiles tells her, “So, I’ve figured out where you were being held. We’ll look into it a little more once we’ve dealt with Deucalion.”

Cora nods and says, “Okay,” but then just rests her head against Derek’s shoulder and closes her eyes.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Deucalion takes his sweet time in making a move, which of course irritates Stiles beyond measure. He’s not sure if Deucalion is doing it to annoy him specifically, or just because he’s waiting for the opportune moment. In a way, Deucalion biding his time is a good thing. The longer he takes, the more likely it is that backup will arrive. But Stiles hates waiting. He always has and always will. Nothing drives him crazy faster than sitting on his hands with nothing to do.

That’s hardly news, of course, and he’s developed strategies for dealing with it, so he tries to keep himself busy. There really is plenty for him to do, even without him trying to micromanage his pack’s schedules and make sure nobody is ever alone. But even so, he’s more on edge than usual, which probably explains what happens three days after he met Deucalion for the first time.

He’s in the study, working on his laptop, when Derek pokes his head in. “I’m going out. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, barely looking up. “Where to?”

“Out to lunch with Jennifer,” Derek says. “I thought I might show her a couple of the art shops downtown that she might like.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, ignoring the by-now-familiar clenching of his gut. “Okay, sure. Just make sure you don’t go alone, bring, uh . . . bring Lydia or somebody, she likes shopping.”

“I was going to bring Scott and Allison,” Derek says. “I figured they could actually sit with us, make it like a double date.”

It’s such a casual comment that it almost doesn’t register. Stiles is halfway through nodding before his stomach does a complete somersault and he blurts out, “Wait, what? A _date_? Are you going on a _date_ with her?”

“Uh – ” Derek blinks at him, taken off guard. “No, I mean, not like a _date_ date. I mean, just . . . you know, lunch. It’s not a date. She’s just a friend.”

“I – ” Stiles forces himself to stop. He’s keenly aware that he’s two seconds away from saying something that he has no right to say, that everyone will regret later. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I can have this conversation right now,” he says carefully. “You should go on . . . and go to lunch with Jennifer. I’m just going to . . . go.”

He turns and walks away as quickly as he can without breaking into a jog. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Everything inside him is churning in a mixture of jealousy, anger, and fear. He stops about fifty feet away from the house and calls Scott. He sounds clueless when he picks up, so apparently Derek hasn’t had a freakout. “Scott, will you make sure that Derek still goes out for lunch with Jennifer?” Stiles asks. “It’s not his fault or hers that I’m all fucked up about this. Okay?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Scott says. He sounds a little dubious, which is fair. Derek is not known for taking advice or orders from Scott.

Stiles spends some quality time beating up on his favorite old CPR dummy with his baseball bat until he’s exhausted and his muscles ache. He’s so intent on it that he nearly brains Erica when she turns up behind him. “Whoa there, cowboy,” she says, lifting her hands. “I surrender.”

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters. All that talk about never hurting one of his betas and he just nearly killed one by accident. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Erica says. “But I think maybe you need to.”

Stiles sighs and just drops to sit on the ground. “Did he go?”

“Yeah. He’s not mad. More than anything, he just seems confused as to why you’re upset.”

“Well, that’s probably better than him knowing why I’m upset,” Stiles says with a sigh. “I’ve got no fucking right.”

“Hey,” Erica says, sitting down next to him and giving him a light smack upside the head. “Let’s be real here for a minute. Open relationships are hard. Mature, grown adults have trouble with this stuff. And you’re acting like Derek was just a-okay with everything in the beginning and now you’re the one who’s causing all the trouble. I might remind you that it took him a year to come to terms with the fact that you had a sex drive, and three joints before he could talk about it with you for the first time. And let’s not go into the fact that he treated me like shit for the first month after we started sleeping together, or how many showers you had to take until he got used to it.”

Stiles sighs. She has a point; Derek hadn’t exactly accepted his and Erica’s relationship gracefully. Not that he blames him for that. “Derek’s got issues, though.”

“What, and you don’t?” Erica rolls her eyes at him. “Look, you’re entitled to have feelings, Stiles. And the whole thing with Derek and Jennifer is _not_ that similar to you and me. We never went on anything that could be considered a date. I sleep with lots of guys. I went into it well-aware that we were never gonna get married. I don’t think Derek’s had any of those talks with Jennifer, so she probably thinks they _are_ dating. Which sucks for her, if nothing else. So yeah, I think you’ve got a right to tell Derek that he can sleep with whoever he wants, but it _has_ to be something no-strings attached. And I don’t think he’s gonna get that with Jennifer. Seriously, I saw her at the coffee shop the other day. Hearts in her eyes.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Erica says. “Things are stressful and complicated enough without this being an issue.” She gets to her feet and offers Stiles a hand up. “C’mon. Let’s go inside where I can remind you what casual sex is supposed to be like.”

Stiles sighs. “Believe it or not, I’m really not in the mood. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Erica says, wrinkling her nose. “But I expect to be rewarded for my patience.”

Stiles gives her a hug and a quick kiss before he goes up to the spare room to brood. It’s one place that nobody will look for him. He paces around and mentally rehearses different things he can say to Derek. Then he mentally rehearses all the hurt, confused looks he’s going to get, and the different horrible things Derek could say in reply, and the inevitable freak-out he’s going to have.

“Fuck, I can’t do this right now,” he groans. “I need help.”

He flops on the bed and pulls out his phone, thumbing down the list and dialing. It rings twice and then a professional voice picks up. “Fresno Crisis and Counseling Center.”

“Hey, this is Stiles Stilinski, I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Mulroney,” he says, kicking his feet back and forth in the air.

“Is it an emergency?”

“No,” Stiles says, “and can it be a Skype session?”

Normally this might engender questions, but Stiles has done Skype counseling with Gwen before, both during their semester in Neptune and after he had been shot and wasn’t allowed to travel. The secretary says sure, and then says, “How about Friday at eleven thirty?”

Stiles thinks about this, then says, “Okay, you’re gonna laugh at me, but what day is it?”

Amused, the secretary says, “It’s Wednesday now.”

“Okay, then, yeah. Friday at eleven thirty sounds great.” Stiles thanks the woman, hangs up, and puts the appointment in his phone. Skype sessions are good for two reasons. The first, obvious one, is that they save time and he doesn’t have to go all the way to Fresno. But another benefit, particularly in this case, is that he can do it without Derek present. ‘Jack’ always attends all his sessions, so it can become awkward to discuss things that involve him.

He buries himself in research he’s gathered, incidents in other towns where Deucalion and his cronies have showed up, in an effort to learn more about his methods. By the time he hears Derek and the others arrive back at the den, he’s calmed down. He jogs down the stairs and jumps onto Derek, wrapping his legs around the werewolf’s waist. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi, and also, get off me, you maniac,” Derek growls, contentedly nuzzling at his hair.

“Sorry about earlier,” Stiles says, and then before Derek can respond, “did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was fun,” Derek says.

Stiles hops down and says, “Good.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s probably a good thing that Stiles doesn’t approach the subject of Jennifer, because it’s later that evening that Deucalion finally makes his first move. Stiles is keenly in tune with his pack now in a way that he wasn’t in their early days; he’s aware of it the moment that something goes down. He knows it’s Erica and Isaac, and then, a minute later, Boyd. They were on their way home from the ice rink, and he knows they were together.

It seems unlikely that they were run off the road, which makes it more likely that whatever’s happening is happening at the rink. That’s a good fifteen minutes by car. By the time they got there to help, it would be over.

That wouldn’t keep him placated forever when he desperately wants to go to their rescue, but it’s quick. Less than a minute. He’s gathered the others, and they’re all pacing around outside, waiting for something to do. Only Jake isn’t there; he had gone out with some of his school friends. Stiles considers calling him, but decides against it. Jake isn’t much help in situations like this.

It’s been about another five minutes when his phone chimes and he looks down to see that he has a text. It’s from Erica, and it reads, “Three for one special.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Scott asks, looking over his shoulder.

Stiles types, ‘where?’ into his phone and glances up. “He means that he’ll give the three of them back after I kill one of the rest of you.” The words come out calm and collected, which is impressive, given that he’d rather be hysterical. The phone chimes again, with a set of GPS coordinates. Stiles plugs them into a map and finds that it’s on the south side of Beacon Hills, in the woods but not on the preserve. “Let’s go.”

They load up into several cars and head away from the den. It takes nearly ten minutes to drive to where the road ends, and then they have to walk further still. The sun has set, and the forest is getting dark, and Stiles is twitchy and edgy. He starts to see orange light flickering through the trees up ahead. Firelight, he’s almost sure of it.

When they come out into a clearing, he sees that he was correct. JC and Tsukiko are both standing about twenty paces away, holding actual torches. Deucalion is standing by the path, a smug look on his face, with Felisha and Ennis flanking him. Stiles ignores them to look past him, where his betas are. Each of them are tied to a metal folding chair, about a hundred feet away.

Scott makes a noise, an aborted sniff like he just got a nose of something unpleasant. “Gasoline,” he says, not bothering to stay quiet.

“Mm,” Deucalion agrees. “Crude but effective. Fire is, after all, one very good way for killing werewolves.”

Derek gives a low growl, and Stiles puts a hand on his arm, assessing the situation. Even in the dim light, he can see that there’s a circle on the ground that’s been doused in the gasoline. “So, I kill one of my betas, or you’ll have your lackeys there set fire to the circle, and then the three betas in the center will burn to death?” he surmises.

“That’s the general idea,” Deucalion says. “I could choose for you, if you weren’t comfortable doing it yourself.”

Stiles continues to study the situation for a few moments, then says, “Derek, go wait at the car. Allison, go with him.”

For a moment, it looks like Derek might protest, but then he gives the torches an uneasy glance, and nods. Stiles waits until the sound of his footsteps fade. Deucalion is just watching him with that smug smile. Stiles considers his resources. The three betas in the circle have obviously tried to get free. They’re tied up, not chained, but it still must be something better than duct tape, or they would’ve gotten out by now. That, or Deucalion told them they’d be killed if they tried.

Either way, it’d be a short enough dash. He glances around casually at the betas who are on this side of the circle with him, all of whom are tensed and ready for action. Then he smiles at Deucalion and says, “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

With that, he bolts into the circle. He’s reached the three betas before JC and Tsukiko recover from their surprise enough to touch their torches to the ground, and there’s a _whoomp_ noise as the flames go up around him. He drops to his knees beside Isaac, who’s closest, and pulls out his Leatherman, flicking out one of the blades. It slices easily through the first coil of rope, so whatever it is, it’s not something that a wolf couldn’t stand up to under normal circumstances.

Seeing that, he pulls out another knife and tosses it to Lydia, who tends to be fastest. The other betas are already approaching, and they’re ahead of the flames. The real question is, will the other alphas attack them when they try to leave? Stiles is guessing not. The ploy didn’t work, so Deucalion will pull out.

He’s got Isaac freed in about ten seconds, and Lydia has almost got Boyd free. Erica is swearing through the duct tape gag as Stiles starts on the rope. “Get out of here, numbnuts, you’re the one who can’t heal!” she spits out, when Scott yanks the tape off her mouth.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, coughing a little as the last of the ropes come undone.

“What now?” Mac asks, looking around wildly as the flames close in on them.

“Run like hell, jump as high and as far as you can, and then stop, drop, and roll, just like they told us as kids,” Stiles says.

Isaac’s on his feet. “I’ll take you,” he says, and when Stiles opens his mouth, he says, “The higher above the flames you are, the better.”

Stiles gives it a brief second to consider, then nods and scrambles onto Isaac’s shoulders like he’s playing a game of chicken in a swimming pool. All of them run for the flames and give them a flying leap. Stiles feels them lick at his ankles, but he comes through on the other side with nothing more than a few lungfuls of smoke. He sees several of his wolves, little patches of flames on their clothes, but they’re smothering them out and they seem unharmed.

When he gets to his feet, he looks around for Deucalion. But as he suspected, the alphas are nowhere to be seen. “Well,” he mutters, “I guess this round goes to us.”

“Better call your dad about the fire,” Danny says.

“If I’m not much mistaken, Allison already has,” Stiles says, tapping his phone. She picks up a moment later, and he tells her that they’re fine, the alphas are gone, and she confirms that she did call Sheriff Stilinski as soon as she heard the fire starting. Then she tells him that Derek is already starting back down the path, which is no surprise.

They’re all reunited a few minutes later, and the three betas who had been captured have gotten a great deal of hugs. Stiles inquires about the rope, and Boyd says, “Nah, it was flimsy, but he’d soaked it in wolfsbane or something.” He holds out his wrists to show some nasty marks. “The more we struggled, the worse it got, so . . .”

“We knew you were coming, so we figured we would just sit tight,” Isaac says with a nod.

“Okay. Did you notice anything when they took you?”

“Nope,” Erica says. “It was Ennis, that much I saw, but it was pretty much just a right hook to the face, down and out.”

“Figured,” Stiles says. He huffs out a sigh. “Okay. We need to go back to the den and . . . watch a movie or something. I don’t want any of you out of my sight for a while. Boyd, Derek and I will drive you back to the rink to pick up your car. Allison, will you pick up Jake on your way back to the den?” he adds, and she nods. “Cool. I’ll see you back there in a bit.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	9. Chapter 9

 

Stiles takes a minute to adjust his camera before he clicks ‘answer’ and Gwen’s image comes up on the screen. “Hey,” he says.

“Hello,” Gwen says, with a smile. “How are you?” she asks, her voice calm and neutral.

“Ugh. Stressed.” Stiles pushes both hands through his hair, leaving the spikes a little more lopsided than usual. “This asshole alpha is all up in my face, it turns out that Cora was in a hunter prison so now I have to figure out who needs to get their shit sorted out over that, and on top of it Derek is going out on lunch dates with some floozy.”

The last one causes Gwen to blink. “Which one of those things do you want to talk about? Or which order would you like to talk about them in?”

Stiles sighs. “I’m handling Deucalion; he’s a pretentious asshole and he’s got an arrogant streak that can be seen from outer space. Once I’ve figured out how to exploit that, I’m good to go, so in the meantime I just have to try to stay out of his way. Cora, well, if Chris Argent figures out which of his hunter buddies was torturing children, I might not _need_ to do anything. But Derek . . .”

Gwen folds her hands together on her desk. “Okay. Explain it to me.”

“He met this chick at his art gallery, right? And she’s a huge fan of his. She seems nice. She knows about art stuff, which, I don’t. So he’s just making a friend, right? And I should be totally cool with that. But I’m not. I want to kill this woman and I don’t even know her last name.”

“Okay,” Gwen says, thinking about this for a few moments. “Do other members of your pack have friends outside it?”

“Sure,” Stiles says. “I mean, Danny’s still friends with Jackson for some godforsaken reason. Allison’s got friends through archery, Lydia because she’s . . . Lydia. Mac still talks to Veronica all the time, Boyd has some pals down at the ice rink, I mean . . . we’re pack, we’re family, but it’s not like we’re not allowed to know other people. I don’t really have friends outside the pack but that’s mostly just because I don’t have _time_.”

“So what makes Derek’s friendship with this woman different from, say, Mac’s friendship with Veronica?” Gwen asks. There’s no judgment in her voice. She’s still gathering information.

“I don’t even know,” Stiles groans. “And I mean, I was the first one to say it, too. I told Derek, ‘if you want to have sex with her, go for it’ and Derek said he was fine and thanks for thinking of him. Okay, no problem, right? I have absolutely no earthly reason to be jealous of this woman, but every time he says he’s going out with her, I feel . . .” His voice trails off. “I just _hate_ it,” he says. “And I hate it even more because I know I’m being completely irrational but I can’t just not feel it.”

“You brought up sex,” Gwen says. “Do you think this is something beyond simple, platonic friendship?”

Stiles looks away from the monitor. “It’s stupid to think that, right? I mean, this is Derek we’re talking about. He . . . I _know_ he’ll never leave me.”

“Let’s not worry about whether or not it’s stupid,” Gwen says. “Do you think it’s more than friendship, and if so, why?”

Stiles fidgeted, twirling a pen between his fingers. “He smiles when he talks about her. He doesn’t smile that way about anyone else.”

“Okay,” Gwen says. “Would you be so bothered if it this seemed like a normal friendship to you?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. He just – he’s not supposed to feel like that about – about people who aren’t me.” Stiles rubs his hands over his face. “It just – it just feels _wrong_ to me, like, it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.”

That clearly isn’t the answer she expected. “A new question, then. What is it that you feel? Don’t just assume it’s jealousy because that’s the most logical emotion. Maybe it is. But maybe it isn’t. Jealousy usually makes people angry. It doesn’t make their skin crawl.”

Stiles continues to fidget, not really looking at the monitor. He’s quiet for a minute, trying to sort things out. “I guess I don’t really know how to describe it. Intellectually, I can understand why he would want to spend time with her. She’s smart and she talks with him about art and other stuff that I can’t, really. I could understand if he wanted to have sex with her, because she’s really pretty and sweet. It makes total sense for all of this to be happening. But at the same time, when Derek says ‘I’m going out with Jennifer’ my immediate reaction is to, to cringe away like, ugh, why would you want to do that? Like, it would make more sense to me if he said, ‘Stiles, I’m going to strip naked and go shopping at Macy’s.’” Stiles drops his head down to rest on his arms with a groan. “Stiles used ‘metaphor’. It’s not very effective.”

Gwen laughs. “It might not be the most elegant metaphor I’ve ever heard, but it got your point across. So here’s my new question. Is it the relationship that bothers you or the person involved? Would you be okay with this woman making friends with anyone else in the pack?”

Stiles thinks about this for a few seconds, tries to really picture it. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t see why not.”

“Do you think Derek means it when he says he’s not after anything but a friendship?”

“Well, I _did_ , until he casually Freudian-slipped the word ‘date’ into the conversation,” Stiles says, hoping he doesn’t sound as bitter as he thinks he does.

In actuality, he sounds like he’s about to spit nails. “Have you talked to him about how upsetting you find this?”

“I sort of did. I mean, I sort of flipped when he said it, and he assured me he didn’t mean a _date_ date, just a lunch date, and around then was when I decided I wasn’t in any sort of shape to have a rational discussion about it and took off. More than anything he seemed confused that I was upset.”

“It’s possible that he _is_ confused,” Gwen says. “Given the way his life has gone, he might be thinking about what’s happening in an entirely different way. He might not realize that he’s behaving in any way like he wants something from her besides friendship.” She pauses and then holds up a hand. “This doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to your feelings. I don’t think the jealousy is even out of line. He’s your lupa and you’re protective of that. You just have to make sure that the way you _feel_ isn’t going to make you _act_ out of line.”

“Bully for me,” Stiles says, hunching up into a little ball. “It’s okay to be miserable.”

Gwen ignores his self-pity. “I also think that you and Derek should sit down and have a serious talk about what he wants out of his relationship with this woman. If the answer is more than you’re comfortable with, then the two of you will have to work out some sort of compromise. Because he’s your lupa. I can’t imagine that he wants to leave you any more than you want him to. I’ve never heard of anyone ever being done with their mate.”

“That’s what Justin said, back when he was explaining it to me,” Stiles says. “That husbands and wives might get divorced, but lupa never changes. But . . . I’m afraid that if I say something, he’ll get mad. I mean, doesn’t it make me a gigantic hypocrite? I’m literally having sex with another woman. How can I tell him that he can’t go out on lunch dates?”

“But it’s about what the other person means to you. Are you and Erica anything more than friends?”

“No,” Stiles says, and rubs a hand over his face. “Like I said. I’m being irrational.”

“I don’t think so. You and Erica are friends. The sex doesn’t change that. If Derek is only friends with this woman and you didn’t like that, then yes, you would be out of line. If it’s something more than that, you have a right to be upset. Because you aren’t looking for anything besides friendship outside of Derek. It isn’t unreasonable to want the same sort of devotion in return.”

“I guess.” Stiles picks at his fingernails. “So what should I do?”

“I think you should talk to him about it. Even if he gets angry. I don’t think he’ll leave you. The truth is, people who love each other still get angry at each other sometimes. They work it out.”

“Yeah, but what should I say? I mean, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Especially because I have to be really careful that it doesn’t come off as a command. I’m his alpha, you know? If I actually said ‘I don’t like you seeing Jennifer’, it sounds like an order.”

“Well, then I’d start with something more simple, like, ‘can we talk about Jennifer’.”

“I should use ‘I’ statements, right?” Stiles gives a weak chuckle.

“Yes. This is a good time for them.”

Stiles slumps. “Okay. I’ll figure something out. By which I mean ‘I’ll probably put this off for two weeks or until such time as Deucalion isn’t trying to kill my pack out from underneath me’.”

“I’ll have to trust you to sort out your own priorities,” Gwen says. “But why don’t we set up another skype session for next week, same time, and you can give me an update?”

“Okay,” Stiles says with a sigh. “That sounds good.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles doesn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until the sound of his phone ringing jolts him out of a doze. He flails around on the sofa, realizing that someone had covered him with a blanket. He’s not even sure how long he’s been out. He fumbles for his phone and sees that it’s Chris calling. Voice a little gravelly and mushy with sleep, he picks up. “Stilinski Apiary; you got the money, we got the honey.”

“What the hell is an apiary?” Chris asks, sounding amused.

“Beekeeping,” Stiles says, yawning. “You know. Bees. Honey. What’s up?”

“Well, I have some news that I thought you might be interested in,” Chris says. “And I’d apologize for the delay, but this was kept very quiet. I’m amazed I found out about it at all.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Stiles says, staggering into the kitchen in search of coffee.

“Derek’s sister isn’t the only one who escaped that prison,” Chris says. “Apparently, dozens of werewolves, at least half the ones there, got out. Someone on the inside must have decided to let a bunch of them go free, but nobody seems to know who or why.”

“Any pattern?” Stiles asks.

“None that they can determine so far,” Chris says, “but I’m still trying to get details. The Gutierrez family won’t talk to me or even Julien, after everything that happened at the Conclave and in Oregon. And for obvious reasons, they really don’t want anybody to know about the jailbreak.” He sighs a little. “I’ll see what I can find out, but it might be a while.”

“Okay.” Stiles finds half a pot of surprisingly hot coffee and pours himself a mug. “Thanks, Chris.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Chris asks, “How’s she doing?”

“Pretty well,” Stiles says, “all things considered.”

“Okay.” Chris sounds relieved. “I’ll keep you posted, then.”

Stiles says goodbye and hangs up, then glances at his phone to see what time it is. The house is strangely quiet, and no one is in sight. That, along with the hot coffee, means it’s probably mid-morning. The pack is outside doing drills, and, as they often do, let him sleep rather than disturbing him.

His hunch is correct. It’s nine fifteen. He digs a pack of Canadian bacon out of the refrigerator and starts making that along with French toast. The pack comes back inside, cheerfully moaning and groaning about the drills, about twenty minutes later, and dives into the food. Stiles keeps his news to himself until they’ve eaten and gone over their schedule for the day.

“So,” he says, once the pack has split up, and he’s gestured for Derek and Cora to follow him into the relative privacy of Derek’s studio. “Cora, you weren’t the only escapee from that prison. Apparently someone staged a jailbreak. So the fact that your collar wasn’t latched properly was almost certainly on purpose.”

Derek frowns. “Who would do that? And why? Do we have any idea?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Not yet. The family that runs the prison – ” he hasn’t yet mentioned to Derek that it’s the Gutierrez family, against whom they have a healthy grudge – “has been keeping it quiet. It’s hard for Chris to get details. I have two guesses. The first is that someone was trying to rescue a friend or packmate, and figured while they were there, they might as well rescue everyone they could. The second is that one of the hunters had a change of heart and staged it themselves.”

Cora makes a scoffing noise, but Derek looks thoughtful. “How likely is that?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says. “Chris seems to think it’s likely. More and more, the hunters have been splitting into two factions lately. You know, the ones who suck and the ones who don’t. That’s exactly why I wanted to put that directory together. They’re basically building up to a civil war. And the way Chris put it, most of the younger hunters didn’t know about the concentration camps. It’s something you only find out when you’re older, more well-established, less likely to be willing to risk everything you’ve worked your entire life for.”

“But what happened with Ian blew the lid off that,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. “It never would have occurred to the Elders that anyone would have actually stopped and _talked_ to the monster they brought long enough to figure out where he came from. I went and made friends with the freakin’ thing, and suddenly everyone knew that he’d been kept in some godforsaken prison for years.”

Cora looks faintly confused, since she’s missed a lot of details, but she rolls with it like a trooper. “So someone who worked at the prison had a crisis of conscience?”

“It can’t have been someone who was there for years,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “My guess is that someone with the express intent of staging the jailbreak worked to get a job there. The Conclave was over a year ago now. That’s plenty of time to find a way in.” He chews on his lower lip for a minute. “Do you remember anything about whoever it was that put you in your cell that day? Who improperly fastened your collar?”

Cora shakes her head and winces a little. “It was a woman, and . . . I think someone fairly young, but . . . we didn’t look at the guards. That’s one of the first things you learn there. Looking directly at a guard is considered insolence, and . . . you’re punished. So no. I remember . . . dark hair. I think it was short. But that’s all.”

“That’s not a lot to go on,” Derek says, and frowns. “Do we know which prison she was in?”

“It was down in southern Arizona,” Stiles says, hoping that Derek won’t make the connection.

He does, immediately, and his lip curls. “ _Those_ assholes?”

Stiles sighs, and Cora blinks between the two of them, so he decides to explain. Directing the words mostly to Cora in an effort to keep Derek from getting too angry, he says, “That’s the territory of the Gutierrez family. We’ve had a few run-ins with them before. They are assholes of the first degree. But any ally we can find in the hunters is one worth finding. So we’ll have to think about figuring out who staged that jailbreak.”

“Okay,” Cora says. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, running a hand over her hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right now, Chris is trying to get more detail,” Stiles says, “so we can let him do that while we worry about Deucalion.”

They both agree on that. The pack has split into pairs. It’s one of those days where everyone has something to do. Scott and Boyd are both working. Mac’s at home because it’s her little brother’s birthday. Everyone has their own commitments and things to do.

Stiles spends the morning organizing information on the different hunter families and trying to plan ahead for what Deucalion might do next. They need to _find_ him. He’s not usually one for preemptive strikes, but he’s thinking that if he can figure out where Deucalion is holing up, he’ll ask Chris to bring a bunch of his guys and some assault rifles with wolfsbane bullets and take care of the problem with extreme prejudice.

He runs himself a hot bath and wonders if he’s going down the road he’s always been afraid of. Chris had told him early on that killing should never be easy. That the day it was easy, you became one of the monsters. Now Stiles is lying there plotting how to murder six different people, preferably without warning.

But it was with a warning, he reminded himself. He had told Deucalion straight off that there would only be one. And the track record of what happened to people who trespassed on his territory and hurt his pack was well-known. Deucalion knew exactly what he was getting into. They had even talked about Sebastian Stone. If Deucalion wasn’t going to listen, that was his own problem.

What about his followers, though? Stiles still has trouble reconciling the people that Ravinder had talked about – the ones who had had their own packs, at least – with the ones he had met. How had Deucalion gotten to Ennis and Felisha? Was the power gained from killing one’s own really so potent that it could override the pack bond?

What had happened a few months previous had put some things into perspective for him. He had killed Matt without hesitation and really, without remorse. The only remorse he had felt had been for what he thought he might be becoming. And it was his grandmother, Milena, who had really clarified things for him. “There’s a big difference between a murderer and a soldier,” she had said.

“I’m just a soldier,” Stiles says to the ceiling. A soldier fighting in a very unique sort of war, but the supernatural world was kill-or-be-killed, and it always had been. If Deucalion was going to try to kill his pack, Stiles would try to kill him twice as hard, and regrets and remorse be damned. And if his followers didn’t get out of the way in time, that was their own damned problem.

He gets out of the bath feeling calm and relatively at peace with everything, looking forward to a quiet afternoon and evening with just Derek and Erica for company. Lydia had taken Cora down to the ice-skating rink, where they could keep an eye on Boyd while he worked, and she could try to teach her how to skate. She had never gone, Cora said, and Scott was the first to tell her all about how natural werewolf grace could be absolutely no help.

His calm is shredded the moment he gets into the bedroom and finds Derek contemplating two different shirts. “Which of these do you think looks better on me?” Derek asks, holding up a dark maroon button down in one hand and a lavender one in the other.

Stiles doesn’t need to ask why he’s suddenly taking such an interest. He has a dinner not-date with Jennifer. Clearly, he wants to look his best. Which would be fine if not for the fact that he has literally never, in the three years that Stiles has known him, given even half a fuck about this before. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself of what Gwen had said. Derek probably doesn’t have any idea what sort of impression he’s making. He probably just wants to look good because it’s a nice restaurant.

Right. And maybe pigs will start flying by the bedroom window.

“I like the purple one,” Stiles says, after a moment that he hopes isn’t too long. He needs to get out of here. “Hey, will you be all right here for a while? I was thinking of going to go see my dad and thought I might take Erica with me.”

Because if he’s going to lecture Derek on the state of his relationship with Jennifer, what he really needs to do is remind him of his relationship with Erica, he thinks a moment too late. Full marks, Stilinski. A little shaky on the dismount, perhaps.

“Sure,” Derek says, with a nod. “I’ll hang out here until Danny and Isaac get back. They’re going with me tonight, right?”

“Right,” Stiles says. “Have fun,” he adds, and throws some clothes on and heads down the stairs. He snags Erica from where she’s lounging on the television and says, “Let’s head back to my place.”

“Ooh la la,” Erica says, smirking at him.

He’s not in the mood for jokes, but there’s no point in telling Erica not to be Erica. He drives in tense silence that approaches rage, trying to sort out how he’s feeling about this. Don’t assume it was jealousy, Gwen had said. So what else could it be? He doesn’t know. At its core, it feels like fear. It feels like he’s watching a horror movie, where he wants to shout at the TV screen, “No, don’t open that door, don’t go investigate that scary noise, don’t go for a walk in the woods.”

Rationally, that makes no sense. Derek’s gone out on at least half a dozen not-dates with Jennifer at this point. If she meant him harm, she’d had ample time to accomplish it. So why is he so afraid, every time he sees Derek getting ready to go out with her?

“ – Stiles? Earth to Stiles?” Erica says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Sorry.”

“Did you talk to him about this yet?” Erica asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. I wanted to talk to Gwen first. Which I did. And now I have a plan. Which is super. I just – I was hoping I could get this bullshit with Deucalion dealt with, first.”

Erica looks a little skeptical, but doesn’t actually argue with him. The Stilinski house is empty when they get there, which is fine with him. He and Erica have a tumble which restores at least some of his spirits, even if it leaves him feeling awkward and guilty over the whole Derek-and-Jennifer situation.

She’s hungry afterwards – she’s always hungry afterwards – and Stiles knows that his father will be home soon, so he goes downstairs and starts pawing around in the refrigerator. He finds a package of hamburger and decides to fire up the grill. Erica goes upstairs to take a shower while he’s doing that. He’s still out back poking at the coals when his father gets home.

“Hey, you,” he says, getting Stiles in a bear hug. “I didn’t know you’d be home tonight.”

“What, I can’t visit my old man without an interrogation?” Stiles asks, and his father gives him an unimpressed look. Stiles changes the subject. “You look tired. Working a lot lately?”

“No more than usual,” Tom says. “How are things going with this alpha who’s making trouble?”

Stiles pushes a hand through his hair and starts putting the hamburgers on over the coals. “Better if I could find the son of a bitch,” he says. “I need to talk to Chris about helping me look. You know how much I hate being on the defensive. Especially when in this case, ‘the defensive’ is sitting around waiting for him to put my betas in deadly situations so he can try to force me to kill one of them in order to get him to let them out.”

“Is that what that fire was about?” Tom asks.

“Yeah.” Stiles gives him a quick summary of the situation, and he can feel himself edging towards panic, the more he thinks about it. “Like, that one was pretty easy, right? But who knows what he’ll do next? I mean, he could just go with the simple thing and put his hand around Derek’s throat and tell me if I don’t kill someone, he’ll kill Derek. What if he, he shoots one of them with wolfsbane and won’t let me near them to cure them? What if he suspends them over a pit of, of alligators and I – ”

“Stiles,” his father says firmly, “there are no alligators in Beacon Hills.”

“Okay, that one was a little lame, but still,” Stiles says, “I’m kind of freaking out here.”

His father pulls him back into a hug and rubs at his back. “We’ll get it worked out,” he says. “This isn’t the worst thing you’ve faced down, right?”

“Except maybe – maybe it is,” Stiles says, trying not to cling. “Everyone was all like ‘oh, that douchecanoe’ and ‘nothing you can’t handle’ and that’s cool but it’s like – I think this is the first time anyone’s ever showed up and just said ‘by the way, I’m here to kill your entire pack’. I mean, Stone was psycho but he just wanted to play games, he was in it for the challenge, not specifically to kill. The Conclave, that was just – sure, they sicced Ian on us but it wasn’t the same as – and the whole thing with Cassidy and then with Matt was just me getting involved in other people’s business, really, they weren’t specifically targeting me and – ”

“Stiles,” Tom says, “breathe.”

Stiles sucks in air. “I don’t know what to do, Daddy, I’m scared, and I can’t – if I lose even a single pack member I’ll lose my _mind_ , I don’t – I can’t handle that, I can’t. And the worst thing is, the rest of the pack is all taking it so casually, like, Erica’s more worried about the fact that Derek might be dating some artist chick and Derek’s just focused on all this shit with his sister being back and I – I feel like the only one worried about this, because the others, they trust me to handle it, to handle anything, and that? That is fucking terrifying and I – ” He breaks off with a hiccupping sob as his father hugs him tighter.

“It’s okay,” his father says quietly, rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay, Stiles. We’re going to handle it, okay? But you’re not alone. We’ll handle it together.”

Breath by breath, Stiles edges back from the hysteria. “The burgers are going to burn,” he finally says, and his father lets him go to flip them over. He knuckles the tears out of his eyes while his breathing steadies out.

“Look, you send me everything you have on this Deucalion guy,” Tom says. “We’ll figure out where he’s holed up, and then we’ll take care of it.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. Worst comes to worst, I’m just going to make everyone stay at the den until Justin shows up. I would feel a hell of a lot better with them at my back.”

“Not a bad idea,” Tom says, “despite how terrible a summer that would be. Any idea when they might be free?”

“They were doing a trial in Italy. A trial can take anywhere from a week to two weeks, so, hopefully soon.” Stiles sighs a little. His phone rings, and he grabs it out of his back pocket and glances at the screen to see that it’s Danny. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, Stiles,” Danny says, “look, I’m super sorry, but I can’t go with Derek tonight. My uncle just got into town with this woman who is apparently his fiancée and my parents are saying let’s all go out to dinner and celebrate and I so can’t get out of it. Isaac says he’ll come with me, I think my uncle thinks he’s my boyfriend but whatever.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Oh, uh, okay. I’ll figure it out. Thanks.” He says goodbye and hangs up, then rakes a hand through his hair. With Boyd and Scott working, Cora and Lydia with Boyd, and Allison at Mac’s for her little brother’s birthday party, that leaves exactly two people available to go with Derek on his date. Him and Erica. He sighs and dials Derek. “Hey, Danny had a family thing come up so Erica and I are gonna hang out at the restaurant while you have dinner with Jennifer,” he says.

“Okay,” Derek says, and doesn’t even ask whether or not this will be okay, proving once and for all that he’s completely oblivious to any and all of the reasons Stiles might not be comfortable with it. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and hangs up. “Guess you’re gonna be eating a lot of hamburgers,” he says to his dad.

“Well, have one before you go,” Tom says, and Stiles nods.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action! Excitement! Revelations! <3

 

Stiles pushes his food around his plate and wonders why he’s tormenting himself like this. He reminds himself, not for the first time, that he didn’t exactly volunteer for this duty. But it feels like literal torture to watch Derek smile at Jennifer, watch him reach across the table to brush an eyelash off her cheek. Stiles is pretty sure that Jennifer’s hand is on Derek’s knee underneath the table and it’s driving him _insane_.

It isn’t right. He can’t say how he knows that, but it isn’t. He knows Derek, and this isn’t Derek. And maybe it’s just jealousy, maybe he’s out of control and overreacting, but he can’t sit there anymore. He just can’t. “Jesus, I can’t watch this.”

“Well, I can stay here if you want to – ” Erica says.

“No, I mean, I literally cannot let this go on any longer,” Stiles says, getting to his feet. “I’m done. I’m probably insane, but I’m done.” He walks purposefully towards the table where Derek and Jennifer are sitting. Derek doesn’t even look up at his approach, which makes him grit his teeth. He clears his throat, and Derek blinks up at him, bewildered. “Derek,” he says. “I, uh . . . I need to borrow you for a while. It’s important.”

“Right now?” Derek asks. He isn’t refusing, but it’s clear that he’d be happier if this could wait.

Stiles pastes a smile on his face because that isn’t right either. Derek wouldn’t say anything like that under normal circumstances. “Yeah, but it won’t take long,” he says, even knowing that it’ll probably be a lie.

Derek gives a reluctant nod and gets to his feet, flashing Jennifer an apologetic look. She just smiles and says, “You know, I’m going to head home. Call me when you’re done taking care of this, and you can come over, okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and hesitates. “He wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important.”

“It’s totally fine,” Jennifer says, and squeezes his hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Derek nods, then gets up and follows Stiles, who turns and heads out to the car without another word. He finds that he’s actually trembling a little, though he can’t actually say why. Before Derek has a chance to say anything, he blurts out, “I’m sorry, but I need to take you to Deaton’s.”

For a few moments, Derek is just confused. “What? Why?” Then confusion turns to concern. “Is everything okay? Was someone hurt?”

“No one’s hurt, but . . .” Stiles grits his teeth and forces himself to say it. “But _you’re_ not okay. I can’t shake the feeling that, that this isn’t right. That Jennifer’s got some sort of weird hold over you.”

Derek backs up a step, startled. “No. Why would you think that?” He sounds more confused than angry.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Stiles says. “It’s just a feeling, I can’t quantify it, I can’t explain it. I feel like if I had interrupted you having dinner with anyone else, ‘are you okay’ would have been your _first_ question, not ‘does it have to be right now’. I feel like if it had been anyone else, you would have stopped seeing her when you saw how unhappy it made me even though we both know that’s grossly unfair. I just, please, please get in the car and let me take you to Deaton’s and if he says everything checks out I swear to God I’ll take you right over to Jennifer’s place afterwards.”

Derek looks at him for a minute, seeing how clearly out of sorts he is, and then nods. “Okay,” he says, because no matter how much he doesn’t appreciate being interrupted, he doesn’t like seeing Stiles upset.

Stiles lets out a breath. It occurs to him at this point that he might want to do something radical like call Dr. Deaton and let him know that they’re coming. He texts him instead, because he doesn’t want to answer a lot of questions. They’re already downtown, so it’s only about a five minutes drive to the clinic. Deaton lets them in through the back. “You’re lucky I was working late tonight,” he says. “What’s going on?”

His typical calm demeanor helps Stiles dial down the panic a few levels. It helps that Scott’s there, too, now at his elbow and full of concern. “I think that some magic might have been done on Derek.”

Deaton arches his eyebrows, then gives Derek a thorough onceover. “If there was, it’s subtle.”

Stiles resists the urge to pull his hair out. “Can you just – just check? Do that dispel thing you can do.”

“Stiles, no one’s magicked me.” Derek’s tone is patient. Jennifer had said she would wait for him. “Just because I’m seeing someone outside of the pack doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

“Oh my God, I _know_ that,” Stiles says. “Call this jealousy or PTSD, call it humoring me, call it whatever you want, but please, for the love of God, let Deaton do a dispelling charm on you.”

Derek lifts his hands in surrender. It won’t hurt anything, since there’s nothing wrong. Deaton looks between the two of them thoughtfully, then says, “Come downstairs.” He turns and heads through the little trap door without another word. Stiles and Derek both follow, with Erica and Scott on their heels.

“You do realize the phrase ‘seeing someone’ has like . . . a whole world of connotation to it, right?” Erica asks, as Deaton directs Derek to stand in the copper circle in the center of the room.

“Yes,” Derek says, looking at Erica like she’s an idiot. He’s clearly very aware.

“And . . . you know that you’re sorta not supposed to do that, being in that you’re Stiles’ lupa and all, right?” Erica says, sounding a little wary. She exchanges a glance with Scott, who looks more confused than anything else.

“He has a thing with you,” Derek points out evenly. “Why can’t I have someone?”

“Dude,” Erica says, “I put the ‘casual’ in casual sex. We don’t ‘see’ each other. It’s not – ”

“Stop it,” Stiles snaps, so tense that he feels like he’s about to break. “Let Deaton work. If I’m wrong, we can have this discussion later, when we’re all more rational.”

Derek rolls his eyes, folds his arms over his chest, and goes silent. Just seeing that expression of dismissal on his face makes Stiles wants to scream until his throat bleeds, but he manages to keep a hold of himself while Deaton kneels down with his fingers touching the ring of copper and begins to recite quietly.

As soon as he finishes, Derek staggers and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. He looks up at Stiles, his eyes going wide. “I . . .” He seems unsure of what to say, and then what happened clearly hits him. “I’m going to be sick.” He bolts to the sink in the corner, heaving.

“Jesus,” Stiles says under his breath, and bites back the noise he wants to make. He approaches Derek cautiously, not sure if his presence will help or make things worse. He looks at Deaton. “Is it – is it okay if he leaves the circle?”

Deaton nods and says, “Yes, because the building is mountain ash, no magic can get in. Even if someone was casting a spell on him right now, it would just bounce back. It would be better if he doesn’t leave the clinic until we’ve figured out what the problem is, though.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and reaches out tentatively, rubbing his hand down Derek’s spine.

Derek shivers a little at his touch but doesn’t pull away. After a long minute, he runs some water in the sink to rinse it out and then turns to Stiles, pressing close and burying his face into Stiles’ neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into his shoulder.

“No, no,” Stiles says, hugging him tightly. “You shouldn’t be sorry. This wasn’t your fault. Nothing about this was your fault, okay?”

He hugs back, almost clinging. “I feel dirty.”

Stiles has to swallow hard before he can speak. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats. Erica walks over quietly and fills a cup with water, handing it down to Stiles, who offers it to Derek.

Derek takes the cup and sips carefully. “I can’t believe I fell for it,” he says. “ _Again_.”

“Well, this wasn’t exactly the same thing,” Stiles says. “I mean, this was magic. You can’t help it when someone does magic on you.” Not that he has the slightest idea how Jennifer had done that. Derek still wears his protection spell; all of them do. How had she gotten around it?

“Close enough.” Derek shudders again. “I want to take a shower. I can smell her on me.”

Stiles looks questioningly at Deaton. The veterinarian shrugs and says, “It might be a little uncomfortable, but I do have the tub that the dogs are bathed in, which has a spray on attachment.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He rubs a hand over his hair and looks at Derek. “How, uh, how do you want to do this?” It might be easier to get Derek to fit if he shifts to his wolf form, but then he won’t be able to scrub himself, and Stiles is pretty sure that he doesn’t want help.

“I’d rather smell like dog shampoo and have you scrub my fur than keep her scent on me,” Derek says.

“Okey dokey,” Stiles says, and eases a hand underneath Derek’s elbow, trying to get him to his feet.

“I’ll get you some spare clothes,” Scott says, disappearing up the stairs.

Derek lets Stiles help him up and then starts to strip, but doesn’t really move away from Stiles. That’s no problem for Stiles, who’s feeling pretty clingy himself. Erica looks between the two of them and then says, “I’m going to go text some updates to the rest of the pack and let them know we might be here for a while.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Good idea.”

“She’s going to expect me to show up,” Derek says, sounding nauseous again.

“You can text her saying you can’t make it. We’ll make something up.”

“I don’t . . . want to talk to her. At all.”

“Okay, I’ll text her.” Stiles absently cards his fingers through Derek’s hair. “God, I’m so sorry. I thought I was just being jealous and unreasonable. I should have trusted my instincts.”

“I don’t . . . want or need anyone else.” He’s quiet for a long minute. “And I don’t care if you have sex with Erica,” he adds in a mumble.

“I know. It’s fine. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The tub is just barely big enough for Derek to fit in as a human, which is good because there are some areas that Stiles thinks would be awkward for him to have to scrub. Scott has to help him into it, since Stiles isn’t strong enough to lift him on his own. Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t protest to being manhandled by Scott, which Stiles thinks is a clear indicator of how upset he really is. He wants any pack member near him; it doesn’t even seem to matter who.

He takes Derek’s phone and scrolls down until he finds Jennifer’s name. “Does she know who I am?” he asks, and Derek nods. So he sends a quick text that says, ‘Might be a while. Stiles is upset. See you around 9?’

A few moments later, then phone chimes with a return text that says ‘ok’ with a smiley. Stiles tucks the phone away and turns the water on. He rubs the shampoo into Derek’s hair and scrubs his back while Derek scours the rest of himself with alarming vigor. Stiles cuts him off after a certain point, and Scott gets him out of the tub and offers him some spare clothes. He always keeps some spares at Deaton’s office in case an animal bleeds or vomits on him. Scott’s T-shirt stretches ludicrously tight over Derek’s shoulders, but he wears it anyway. He clearly wants to be covered. None of Scott’s pants will fit, so Derek’s stuck wearing his boxers. Erica drapes a blanket over his shoulders.

Stiles sits with him a long time, with Derek half in his lap, cradled against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but just holds him, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair and stroking his back.

It’s been nearly an hour since the spell was broken when Deaton pokes his head into the back room and says, “Stiles, can I see you in my office?”

“Sure.” Stiles passes Derek over to Erica, and he immediately curls up against her shoulder. She presses a kiss against his temple and Stiles heads into Deaton’s office.

He’s surprised to find that they have company, and more surprised to see who the company is – his own father and Chris Argent. “Hey,” he says, giving his father a hug and then exchanging a nod with Chris. “I almost hate to ask what you two are doing here.”

“Well,” his father says, in a slow, measured tone, “you may have inadvertently just given us a lead on one of the cases I’ve been working on.”

Stiles blinks at him. “How so?”

“We’ve known for some time that there was a witch in town,” Deaton says, his voice as calm and level as ever. “We’ve been trying to ascertain her identity, but haven’t been able to. Now we know that this Jennifer Blake is a witch, and a powerful one at that.”

“Uh, yeah, how did she do this, by the way?” Stiles asks. “I mean, Derek still wears his protection spell, and I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if she’d yanked out some of his hair at their first meeting.”

“Well, remember, it doesn’t always have to be hair or blood or something like that,” Deaton says. “It can be a significant object.”

“Yeah, I remember, Scott’s ring, Stone’s bullet, but what does – ” Stiles stops and groans. “Derek’s fucking _painting_ , Jesus fucking Christ. She even specifically asked him to pick one out that was meaningful to him. You’d think that would have raised some red flags, but no, I completely missed it.”

“Well, that’s one question answered,” Chris says. “We can make sure we get it back.”

Stiles pushes both hands through his hair. “So how’d you guys know we have a witch in town?”

Chris and Tom both exchange a glance, and then Tom says, “There have been some murders.”

“She’s been _killing_ people?” Stiles asks, his voice rising several notches in alarm.

“Well, we don’t know for sure that it was her,” Tom says. “We’ll have to find out. But yes. Chris said it’s some sort of sacrifice – ”

“A five-fold knot,” Chris says. “It involves gaining specific powers. Healer, philosopher, warrior – ”

“Jesus, how long has this been going on?” Stiles asks, looking between the three men. “How many bodies?”

His father sighed. “Nine. And just over a month.”

“Nine bodies, for fuck’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Stiles,” his father says firmly, but not unkindly, “you were _shot_. You had a hole in your abdomen made by a bullet. You had major surgery. Yes, your healing is augmented by being the alpha, but you still generally heal at a human rate. You’re supposed to be resting as much as possible and you probably won’t be approved to go back to your regular level of activity for another month or even two. I didn’t want you involved, so Chris and I were trying to take care of it quietly.”

Stiles’ jaw sets in that stubborn expression. “Okay, you know what? I accept that from you, Dad. I don’t _like_ it, but I can see why you did it, and I’ll get over it.” He turns to Chris and bites out, “But you and I have a slightly different agreement. I seem to remember something about how you’re supposed to bring it directly to me any time you suspect supernatural shenanigans – ”

“You’re going to try to enforce the agreement you coerced and blackmailed me into?” Chris asks, arching an eyebrow at him. “Even though you returned the blackmail material a year and a half ago?”

Stiles grimaces and says, “I’d give it a shot, yeah – ”

“Stiles, come on,” his father says. “I asked Chris and Alan not to say anything to you, for the reasons I detailed. And nobody in your pack knew. Not a single, solitary soul. The only people outside this room who knew were a few of my deputies, who only knew about the murders themselves, not the supernatural aspects.”

“And Victoria,” Chris says. “Since we’re being honest.” He sees the look on Stiles’ face and says, “I don’t keep secrets from my wife.”

“Well, isn’t that just special,” Stiles says, feeling disgruntled.

“Stiles, whether you like it or not, you’re leaving for college in a few weeks,” Deaton points out. “You’re going to have to get used to other people protecting your territory for you.”

Stiles lets out a breath, but he can’t stop the rage that’s building. “Yes. Okay. That’s true. But when it comes to protecting my _pack_ , nobody gets a say over me.”

“We didn’t have any evidence that your pack was in danger,” Chris says.

“And yet,” Stiles says, gesturing emphatically to the door to the back room. “If I had known there was a witch or a sorcerer in town, I would’ve been at least a little bit less doubtful of my own intuition. I would have intervened sooner, and I wouldn’t have just spent the last hour trying to comfort Derek after he nearly got _raped_. And need I remind you that this is kind of a tender subject because of what _your sister_ did to him when he was a _child_ – ”

“That’s enough!” Sheriff Stilinski says, as Chris’ jaw twitches. “Stiles. You know better than to hold Chris responsible for his sister’s actions, and you owe him an apology.”

Stiles bites down on his lower lip, and forces himself to take a deep breath. Then he looks up and meets Chris’ gaze. “I’m sorry, Chris. I was out of line.” He’s relieved to see Chris nod slightly. “Derek’s . . . in pain and afraid, and it’s clouding my judgment, making it difficult for me to . . .” He can’t manage to finish the sentence. “Let’s just let it go. I’m not thrilled that you kept this from me, but it’s done. And now we’ve got a witch to catch.”

“Well, you have her address, don’t you?” Tom asks. “Erica says that Derek was planning to go over there.”

“Yeah. I’ll get it from him,” Stiles says. He heads back into the back room and crouches down in front of Derek. “Hey,” he says, picking up Derek’s phone. “I’m going to head on over there and get your painting back, how about that?”

Derek reaches out and clutches at his wrist. “Don’t go alone.”

“Nope. I’ve got the best backup in the world. Dr. Deaton and Chris are going to go with me,” Stiles says, and sees Derek relax. He gets the address off Derek’s phone and writes it down on a slip of paper. Interestingly, it’s in Beacon Hills, not in Oakhurst as she had first told him. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Wait.” Derek is still clutching at him. “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, sitting back down on the floor.

“I don’t want to have sex,” Derek says, and then shakes his head a little. “I mean, not with anyone. I’m asexual.”

Stiles blinks. He watches an imaginary line of Dominos fall into neat place. “Oh,” he says. “Wow. Now I feel really stupid.”

“I’m sorry I never told you earlier,” Derek says. “I should have. I mean, this wouldn’t have happened if you’d known that.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I mean, she’s a witch, so . . . anyway. I’m glad I know. We can talk about this more later, okay?”

Derek nods, and relaxes back into Erica’s comforting embrace. Stiles squeezes his hands and then gets to his feet. “Scott, Erica, you stay here with him. I think my backup is adequate to handle any alphas or witches who take exception to my existence. And you guys will be safe as houses as long as you stay in here. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Scott says with a nod.

Stiles stands up and heads out to his father’s car. Tom takes out a bag and hands it over. It’s got his chain mail, his leather jacket, and his baseball bat in it. Stiles puts on the chain mail gratefully. He had felt a little naked going into a possible fight without it. “Look, guys, I want to talk to her before we do anything permanent,” he says. “I want to know why she went after Derek. If there’s some bigger picture here, I want to be able to see it.”

The others nod. Deaton will stay with Stiles, so he can counter any magical nastiness that Jennifer decides to conjure up. Chris will take a sniper position and Tom will stay by the car in case a quick getaway is needed. Stiles takes a few deep breaths and gets into the car with his father.

The drive takes about ten minutes, and he spends those alternating between stunning guilt and incandescent rage. He reminds himself that he needs to be calm. He closes his eyes and spends most of the drive doing some of the meditation exercises that Gwen had taught him.

Jennifer lives in a cute split-level on the west side of town. Stiles waits until Chris has texted to let them know that he’s in position, and then goes up to the front door. It’s nearly nine, so Jennifer’s expecting Derek. She opens her door without compunction, and although she does a double take when she sees Stiles, her face quickly changes into a pleasant smile. “Is Derek okay?” she asks.

“Well, no,” Stiles says. “No, he’s not. And we need to have a little talk about that, Jennifer. Can I come in?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Jennifer says, her smile thinning. “The place is a mess.”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Stiles says. “Let me in or we’ll talk about magic and murders on your doorstep. This is Beacon Hills; I literally give no fucks who overhears.”

There’s a brief moment of consideration on her part. Then she stands back to let them in. They go up the half-flight of stairs and she gestures for them to have a seat in the living room, which has a sofa and loveseat combination. Stiles perches on the edge of the cushions on the love seat and says, “So. Mind telling me why you have designs on my lupa?”

Jennifer’s still smiling, still trying to pull it out. “I think what happens between me and Derek isn’t really your business, is it?”

“Well, if there weren’t magic involved, you would be right about that,” Stiles says. “I think I’ve done pretty well, all things considered. I should get _all_ the awards for not interfering during all this, even though I wanted to pull your teeth out with pliers. So let’s get a few things straight, Jennifer – if it is Jennifer, which I doubt. One: I’m not leaving this house ‘til I have that painting back. Two: I’m not leaving this house until I find out what you’re up to. And three: if those two conditions don’t work for you, I’d be happy to waive them on the condition of you leaving this house in a body bag.”

“Please,” Jennifer says dismissively, dropping the façade. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“No, but you are afraid of something, aren’t you,” Stiles says, and sees her stiffen. “You’re sacrificing innocents to make yourself stronger. You’re trying to win the favor of a powerful werewolf pack. So tell me, Jennifer, what is it that you’re afraid of?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter should get some sort of warning, but I'm not sure what it would be.

 

“Let me tell you a little something that I’ve learned over my three years as the alpha here,” Stiles says. “Everyone has a story. I’m sure you had your reasons for doing what you’re doing. And I’m not the judge, jury, and executioner of Beacon Hills. So this is your one chance to tell me your story before I turn you over to the guy who is.”

Jennifer shrugs, trying to stay casual. “So I wanted to get Derek’s protection. So what?”

“So, you could have just _asked_ ,” Stiles says, struggling with his temper. “Instead of trying to rape him.”

“It wasn’t – ”

“Yes, it was, and don’t start with me about how a guy would never pass up a chance to sleep with a woman,” Stiles says. “You put the whammy on him and invited him back to your place with the clear intention of fucking him. I bet you heard somewhere along the grapevine that Derek and I have a nontraditional relationship. Well, that’s true. But that doesn’t make me any less protective of him. So do you want to tell me why the hell you’re in town, or not?”

Jennifer sighs. “Because of Deucalion.”

“You’re kidding,” Stiles says. “Is there anyone that prick hasn’t pissed off?”

Jennifer’s jaw tightens and she says, “He took everything from me. And you can stay out of my – ”

“You’re _kidding_!” Stiles shouts, his temper snapping as he shoots to his feet. “This is _my_ fucking territory! He came here for _me_! We could have worked together on this from the beginning but instead you went around killing people and hurting my lupa! Don’t you fucking tell me to – ”

Jennifer is on her feet as soon as he is, and he sees her eyes go entirely white. A detached part of him thinks that that’s pretty cool, he’s never seen that happen before with any of the witches or sorcerers he’s met. Before he can do much more than process that, she slams both her hands down on the coffee table and a wave of destruction leaves them.

The loveseat on both sides of Stiles splinters, and everything behind them is thrown into disarray. Deaton never moves, never even blinks an eyelash. But when the dust has settled, he does say, “Please don’t. There’s no need for this to get messy.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jennifer mutters. “A Druid.”

“Guilty as charged,” Deaton says. He glances up and says, “Stiles, you should probably calm down. We came here to talk, remember?”

Stiles’s jaw twitches, but he sits. “So what’s your problem with Duke? Let me guess: you were part of one of the packs he killed?”

Jennifer nods slowly. “Yes. He destroyed everything I had ever held dear. What I said to Derek in the art store that day was true. I nearly died, and I nearly gave up. But I clawed my way back for one purpose, and that’s to get revenge. I heard he was coming here, and figured I could build up my strength and then deal with him once and for all.”

“Jesus,” Stiles says, “why did you use Derek? Why didn’t you just approach me directly?”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve of the five-fold knot,” Jennifer says. “But I figured, if I had one of your pack in my pocket . . .”

Stiles tries to keep his jaw from twitching again. “Well, you’re right on both counts. So I’m going to make a deal with you, Jennifer. You will not kill anyone else on my territory unless it’s Deucalion or one of his cronies. You want to go after them? Be my fucking guest. But this five-fold knot shit stops now. And if you go anywhere near Derek again, I’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

“You don’t understand,” Jennifer says, and there’s honest distress in her voice. “You don’t know what Deucalion is capable of. I’m not strong enough to take him on unless I finish the knot.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles says. “You kill anyone else on my territory, and I’ll kill you. End of story.”

“You’d have to find me and catch me first,” Jennifer mentions.

“You say that like it would slow me down,” Stiles retorts. “Do we have an understanding?”

Jennifer stares at him for a long moment, then sees that she won’t be staring him down. Then she nods. “I understand.”

“Good.” Stiles stands up. “The painting.”

“It’s in my workshop. I’ll get it.”

Deaton follows her. A few minutes later, she emerges from the back of the house, holding the painting. Stiles examines it carefully to make sure that it’s not a copy. To the best of his judgment, it isn’t. Derek will know for sure. He nods to Jennifer once and then leaves the house without another word.

Tom and Chris have both been listening, and as soon as Stiles makes it to the car, Chris asks, “Why are we letting her live? She’s killed nine people.”

“Because I’m more worried about Deucalion than I am about her,” Stiles says. “She could be useful. A distraction, a lure – I’m not sure yet. But she’s right in that Duke is dangerous. I’ll use any chip I have with him. And – ” He pauses. “She’s genuinely afraid of him. I think she honestly believes that what she’s done is a necessary evil. That might not be true, and it sure as hell doesn’t excuse what she’s done, but . . . we can deal with her later. As long as Duke’s here, she’s not going anywhere.” He studies the house thoughtfully for a minute. Then he takes a magazine out of his jacket, that he had taken off her coffee table while she got the painting. “Dad, can you run her prints?” he says. “I want to know who she really is, and what happened to her pack. Let’s start with that.”

“Okay,” Tom says, and takes the magazine carefully. “Chris, can you have a few of your guys set up surveillance, maybe?”

Chris nods. “Yeah. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get up to more trouble.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says. He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s enough for one night, I think,” he says. “I have a lupa I need to see to. We can talk about this more tomorrow.”

The others nod, and Deaton says, “I’ll drive you back to the clinic.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The rest of the pack are at the den by the time that Stiles gets Derek there. He balks several times while leaving the clinic, clearly not wanting to leave the protective circle of mountain ash. Stiles reassures him each time that Jennifer gave back the painting, that she can’t cast a spell on him anymore. Eventually he manages to get him to leave by promising that they’ll have Allison surround the den with mountain ash as soon as they get home.

Scott and Erica go ahead in Scott’s car, and Stiles tells Scott to calm the rest of the pack down, give them the highlights, and keep them from crowding Derek when he gets back. So everyone treats him casually, with a, “Hey guys” or “What’s up” when they come in. Everyone except Cora, who plants herself in front of them with her hands on her hips and spits out, “How could you let this happen?”

Stiles comes within an inch of completely flipping his shit. He’s not in the mood to deal with this, and it’s clear that Derek isn’t either. Before he can say anything, Scott is between them with his hands up in a placating gesture. “Whoa, guys, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow when everyone’s calmed down a little, okay?” he says, mostly to Stiles. Boyd has grabbed Erica to keep her from tearing Cora’s face off, and Lydia is quietly drawing Cora backwards, away from the others.

“Cuddles or violence?” Allison quietly asks Stiles.

He _wants_ violence, but he knows that Derek needs cuddles, and he’s also exhausted. “Cuddles,” he says, but he can’t help it, he bites out, “and keep that bitch away from me.”

“Yeah, we’ll – we’ll take care of it,” Allison says, grimacing. She quickly divvies up the pack, taking charge since Stiles is focused on Derek. She sends Mac, Boyd, and Erica with them. Derek doesn’t want to talk, he just wants to curl up with the others and not think about it. It’s nowhere near late enough to sleep, so Stiles gets them all settled on the cushions in front of the television and puts on a movie.

Stiles is far too tense and edgy to actually sleep or even focus on the movie, but he can’t get up and use his laptop or anything because Derek is fully shifted and curled up with him. He does manage to get out his phone and scroll through a few websites about asexuality, absorbing the information and matching it up to the way he’s seen Derek behave. Derek finally falls asleep during the second movie, and as he’s surrounded by the others, Stiles judges that he can get up. He heads into the kitchen and starts baking.

About an hour later, when the house is dark and silent, Derek comes back out. He’s shifted and pulled his boxers on, although not Scott’s T-shirt. “Hey,” Stiles says, a little surprised. “You want some tea?”

“Sure.” Derek stands behind Stiles and just rubs his cheek against his shoulder for a minute while Stiles puts the water on to boil. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“I told you, you shouldn’t apologize,” Stiles says. “None of this was your fault.”

“No, not that, but . . . I did sort of mislead you. Well, I didn’t mean to.” Derek sits down at the kitchen table, studying his hands. “I knew that . . . you had come to the conclusion that I was just too traumatized by the whole thing with Kate to be interested in sex. I knew I should tell you that you were wrong, but it was just . . . it was hard. I didn’t want you thinking that there was something wrong with me.”

Stiles gets a tin of tea out of the cabinet and one of the teaspoons, glancing over at him. “I’ll admit to not knowing much about asexuality,” he says. “I mean, I’ve read about it online now, which gave me a basic idea. But there’s nothing _wrong_ with you, Derek. I mean, being traumatized by Kate would be wrong. Not wrong like, it wouldn't make sense, because it would totally make sense. Just wrong, like, something that could be fixed. Though . . . if you don’t mind my asking . . .”

Derek looks up at him. “No,” he says. “I don’t mind. You can ask me anything. But as for Kate . . . I knew she expected me to want to have sex with her, so I did. Because I didn’t want her thinking I was broken. I was in love with her.”

“That makes sense,” Stiles says, with a little nod. He puts away the tea and closes the cabinet with a thump. “God, if anything, Derek, this actually makes me feel better. I mean, I always hated the idea of you going without something that you wanted or needed, because of the way she had hurt you, or because you somehow got stuck with me as your alpha. Especially since I have the whole thing with Erica. But I just . . . it wasn’t my business how you dealt with that, so I let it go.”

“Thanks,” Derek says. He ducks his head a little and says, “I’m not ‘stuck’ with you. Idiot. I just didn’t think about the fact that it might make you feel better. And even after I did, I guess . . . I guess there’s a part of me that’s still not used to trusting people with my secrets.”

Stiles sits down next to him and leans forward so their foreheads touch. “You can trust me with anything,” he says.

Derek’s arms come up around him and he pulls Stiles into an embrace, tugging him so Stiles’ forehead rests against his shoulder and hugging him close. They stay that way until the kettle starts to whistle. “But, you know . . .” Stiles says, as he gets up to make the tea. “I know that I don’t know much about art and stuff, so, if you want to make more friends, maybe it’s good that we’re moving to San Francisco next year.”

“What? No,” Derek says, his nose wrinkling like he got a whiff of some nasty smell. “Why would you think I want more friends? I hate people.”

Stiles chokes down a laugh. “Okay. Never mind then.” He pours water into both mugs and then leans over to press a kiss into the top of Derek’s head. “You can just be a misanthrope, then.”

“Your misanthrope,” Derek corrects.

“All mine,” Stiles agrees, and sits down in Derek’s lap, leaning his head on Derek’s shoulder. He falls asleep that way, nestled into Derek’s arms.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Nobody says anything about Jennifer the next morning. Stiles makes breakfast and they eat while rather subdued. He slept restlessly, and spent a lot of time up and down, typing up the information about the alphas that he had gotten from various sources that he can send to his father. He’s not exactly sure how it will help, but he’s managed to gather the locations and dates of at least five other packs that they’ve annihilated. If there’s any sort of pattern, his father will find it. He’s still the best detective that Stiles knows.

All morning, he’s waiting for Cora to say something – either to continue the argument she had started the night before, or to apologize for what she had said. Neither happens, and the air between them becomes charged with unpleasant tension. Derek seems too distracted to notice, and Stiles, knowing how shaken he is by what Jennifer did to him, doesn’t want to bother him with it.

He has no idea what sort of long-term solution will present itself for Cora. He can’t make her leave, not when Derek is so happy to have part of his family back. But he knows that he can’t integrate her into the pack, either. She’s been getting along better with the others, but only in a temporary-cease-fire sort of way, a ‘we all want Derek to be happy so we’ll refrain from ripping each other’s throats out’ sort of way. And even then, it’s only barely enough with some of the more volatile and protective pack members, like Erica and Scott and Stiles himself.

The only thing he can think to do is maybe try to hook her up with another pack in the area, but he has no idea how to go about doing that. He doesn’t want to leave her omega, even though he thinks Cora herself might prefer it. If there’s someone out there who can teach her what it’s like to be in a pack and have packmates who care about her, it sure as hell isn’t him.

He’s considering all this while he mixes batter for cookies, and considering going down to the station to see if his father has made any progress (unlikely in the intervening twelve hours) when he feels a sharp, sudden stab of anxiety. Before he even has time to try to figure out who it’s coming from, his phone rings. He glances at the screen. Allison. “What is it?” he picks up, tense and trying not to snap.

“They – they took her,” Allison chokes out. “I’m sorry, I just – just woke up.”

“Are you all right?” Stiles demands. He tries to remember who she had been out with, but there’s been so much going on lately that he just doesn’t know.

“Yeah, I, I seem fine.” She sounds shaken, but otherwise all right. “I don’t even know what happened. We were walking out to the car and then – I saw something out of the corner of my eye and then I just woke up and I guess about twenty minutes have gone by and, and I don’t see Lydia anywhere, they must have taken her.”

“Okay, we’re going to find her,” Stiles says firmly. “I’m sending Scott and Isaac to pick you up. Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”

“O-Okay,” Allison says, and Stiles hangs up. He shouts for Scott and Isaac, explains the situation briefly, and Scott is practically bolting for the door before he can even finish his sentence. He grabs his laptop and pulls up Lydia’s phone. It’s still on, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s able to easily look up the GPS coordinates, and find that she’s surprisingly not far from exactly where she had disappeared from. Allison and Lydia had been going to the mall, he remembers that now. Allison is apparently in the parking lot; Lydia looks to still be inside the mall somewhere.

Before he can get to his feet, his phone chimes with a text, and he picks it up to see that it’s coming from Lydia’s number. Like the text from Erica’s phone the other day, it’s clearly from Deucalion, but this time the meaning is a mystery. It reads, ‘will you show her mercy?’

“The fuck . . .?” Stiles asks.

A few moments later, he feels one of the strangest sensations he’s ever encountered. It’s like pain, but strangely distant, sourceless. He’s intimately familiar with pain by now, with the different kinds of it – the kind that stabs versus the kind that burns or throbs – and this doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere specific. It takes him a moment to realize that’s because it’s not his own. It’s Lydia’s.

“Derek!” He’s on his feet with his laptop tucked under one arm. Derek is already on the stairs, having felt his alpha’s sudden distress. With Scott and Isaac already gone, that’s most of his best fighters. “Boyd! With me! The rest of you stay here until you hear from me!”

There’s a general clamor, but they know by now that he’ll update them as soon as he can. He lets Derek drive so he can watch Lydia’s GPS on his laptop, in case it moves. “Thank God for my-fi,” he says to himself, and giggles almost hysterically, thinking of that night in the garage with Peter. He explains what’s happening. Boyd calls Isaac to tell him and Scott to wait at the mall once they’ve found Allison, and then calls Erica so she can explain to the others left at the den what’s going on.

It’s difficult not to bolt through the mall, but he doesn’t want to cause a panic, so he forces himself to simply walk at a good clip. It’s late morning on a Sunday, and the place is packed.

They find Lydia in the bathroom by the food court, which Stiles shows no compunction about entering despite being decidedly the wrong gender. Fortunately, she’s by herself, curled up on the floor in the handicapped stall, her entire body shivering. “Hey, hey,” Stiles says, gathering her against his shoulder. “Lydia. Can you hear me?”

“S-S-St,” she manages, her eyes opening, and then her body spasms.

“You’re okay, we’re gonna get you some help,” Stiles says. He half-stands and then Derek takes her from him, lifting her easily. They enter the hallway cautiously and don’t see anyone. “Back exit,” Stiles says. It’s an emergency exit, and the alarm will go off. He decides he doesn’t care. He’s not going to carry Lydia out through the mall like this.

They get her outside and Derek carefully lays her down on a patch of grass while Boyd runs to get the car. Stiles is already on his phone, updating Scott, and a minute later his car comes up in a screech of burning rubber. Allison is out of the passenger seat before it comes to a complete stop, skidding onto her knees next to Lydia. “Lydia? Oh my God, is she okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t even know what happened – ”

Lydia grabs at Allison’s hand and squeezes it so hard that Stiles can hear the bones creak and grind together. Allison doesn’t flinch. “Okay, I’m okay,” Lydia rasps, but then another spasm shakes her body, and Stiles grits his teeth against the bizarre sensation of someone else’s pain. It’s never been like this before. His betas have been wounded, sure, but the wounds have always healed. This is something else, a level above anything they’ve experienced previously. “Got this . . . for you,” Lydia adds, opening her other hand. Stiles blinks down at it to see a few strands of black hair caught between her fingers. “From . . . the Japanese bitch. That’s . . . who dosed me.”

“Jesus, Lyds,” Stiles says, carefully taking the strands of hair and fishing around in his pocket for a Kleenex to wrap them in and keep them safe. They don’t have a sorcerer in their pack, but Deaton might be willing to do a simple tracking spell for them. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.

Since Scott’s car is already there, Stiles loads Lydia into it and clambers into the back with her. Derek crams himself in next to them without being asked. “I’ll wait here for Boyd,” Isaac says, since Boyd hasn’t come back with the Jeep yet, and Scott nods as he scrambles back behind the wheel and Allison dives into the passenger seat.

“Hospital?” Scott asks, slamming the car into drive.

“Deaton’s,” Stiles says, shaking his head. He’s already on his phone. Scott nods and starts zipping down the road. The mall isn’t far from downtown, and while normally about a fifteen minute drive, Scott makes it in less than ten. Stiles hands Lydia out to Derek. She tries to walk but nearly falls, and Derek picks her up again.

“Lay her down here,” Deaton says, as the group bursts inside. As usual, he’s calm and composed. He holds his hand over Lydia’s forehead, looks into her eyes, presses two fingers against her throat. “What did the text say?” he asks, and Stiles tells him. Deaton looks up and nods slightly, then says, “Since they only did this to Lydia, not Allison, one can conclude it’s something that’s only effective against werewolves. If you look in her eyes, you can see a thin ring of silver around her irises. My guess is that they injected her with silver nitrate.”

“Jesus,” Stiles says, in a low, shaky voice. “What – what do we do?”

“If it was enough to kill her, she would be dead already,” Deaton says, and Allison makes a little noise and squeezes Lydia’s hand. “But there is no cure besides time. The effects will wear off in probably about ten to fifteen hours. Until then, she’ll be – well, I won’t understate the case to spare you. She’ll be in excruciating pain.”

 “I already tried to take some of it on the way over,” Derek says in a thin voice, “but nothing seemed to happen.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Deaton says. “Silver isn’t like wolfsbane, where it affects you physically. It’s metaphysical, mystical. It blocks a shifter’s powers, so no, you won’t be able to take her pain.”

“So basically, Deucalion thinks I’ll kill her to end her pain,” Stiles says.

“That – that son of a bitch,” Lydia says through grit teeth. “Only someone who’s never had menstrual cramps would think that I can’t handle this.”

Allison gives a hysterical little giggle. Stiles tries to laugh but nearly chokes on it. “Okay, well, we are going to be right here with you the entire time,” he says, taking her other hand and giving it a squeeze. “Unless – you’d rather be at the den? Or at home? Deaton, would that be okay?”

“Oh, God, don’t move me again,” Lydia says. “That was worse than anything. I – I’m a-okay, I – ” Her voice breaks off as she makes a strangled noise, trying to choke back a cry of pain.

“Hey, hey, breathe with me,” Stiles says. “We’re gonna be okay, right? Here, focus, uh – count primes with me. Okay, you ready? Primes. One, two, three, five, seven – ”

“Eleven,” Lydia gasps out. “Thirteen, seventeen.”

“Nineteen, twenty-one – ”

“Twenty-one is divisible by seven and three,” Lydia says, squeezing his hand hard.

“Right, I knew that, I was just testing you – ”

Lydia tries to smile, but she’s bitten down on her lip so hard that it’s bloody. Derek reaches over and gently wipes the blood away. “Twenty-three,” he says. “You can do this, Lydia.”

They count primes up to five hundred, where Lydia finally falters (Stiles having been stumped quite some time ago). He starts her back over with the Fibonacci sequence. By the time she’s gotten far enough in that, the others are starting to arrive. They’re all clearly prepared for a long day. They’ve brought blankets, pillows, six-packs of soda and pre-made sandwiches. Cora’s with them, looking a little sullen but not outwardly bitchy. Stiles supposes they’re lucky it’s a Sunday, and that Deaton doesn’t have patients to see.

“What – ” Lydia breaks off another cry of pain. “What do we count now?”

“Scream if you need to,” Derek tells her. “This place is soundproofed, Deaton says, so neighbors aren’t bothered by barking dogs. If you need to scream, go ahead.”

Lydia nods a little, still clutching at Allison’s hands. The brunette is holding a damp cloth to her forehead, murmuring soothing things under her breath, and she looks up at Stiles anxiously. Stiles crouches down so he’s on eye level with Lydia. “Remember,” he says, “this is just a moment in time. It’ll be over before you know it, and you’re going to be fine. Just bear with it. And in the meantime . . .” He looks up as Deaton wheels in a whiteboard. “Perfect,” he says. “Lyds, you and I are going to do _math_.”

“Oh, really,” Lydia pants.

“Yep,” Stiles says. “Because I know the best way to keep you occupied, and while normally I can’t keep up with you, today I might actually have a chance. So how do you feel about solving Fermat’s Last Theorem?”

“Always wanted to try it,” Lydia says. “Someone – someone prop me up a bit.”

Danny and Scott carefully lift her up while Derek slides blankets and pillows underneath her. Allison holds her hand and Mac brings her a mug of green tea. She sips it gingerly as Stiles writes the basics of the proof out on the whiteboard. They start to quibble over it. Stiles writes down what she tells him to, but occasionally stops and argues with her.

As a distraction, it serves nicely. Sometimes Lydia has to stop and just breathe for a minute, and sometimes she presses a spare pillow against her face and screams. Sometimes she rolls onto her side and sobs while her body is wracked with convulsions. She even falls into an exhausted doze a few times, although never for more than a few minutes at a time before she wakes up from the pain. The others take turns sitting with her, letting her squeeze their hands so hard that she breaks their bones. Allison and Danny are never far away, and Stiles constantly paces back and forth between the whiteboard and the makeshift bed.

Around midnight, Lydia goes from a light doze to a heavy sleep. Deaton checks on her and says that he thinks the worst of it is over. It’s been about thirteen hours since they picked her up. Stiles is literally swaying on his feet from exhaustion.

“You should go get some sleep,” Scott tells him.

Stiles pushes both hands through his hair. “Jesus, Scotty, I don’t think – ”

“Lydia’s going to be okay,” Scott says, “and Stiles, we need you at the top of your game. Take a few people with you. I know that you barely slept last night, and probably the night before that. Take one of your pills, get a solid eight hours. Do it for the pack if you won’t do it for yourself.”

“Fine,” Stiles groans. “Bossy jerk.” He glances around. Danny and Allison will both want to stay with Lydia; Mac will want to stay with Danny and Scott will want to stay with Allison. He wants another good fighter with them, although God knows that Deaton’s clinic is probably the safest place in Beacon Hills, so Isaac can stay with them as well. That leaves him with Derek, Erica, and Boyd. That’ll be good enough. Cora will tag along with them, since she’d rather stay with Derek. He supposes that’s fine. He’s just too tired to care about Cora’s feelings at the moment.

“Let’s go back to your dad’s place,” Derek says quietly, as they troop out of Deaton’s clinic. “It’s a lot closer than the den.”

Stiles nods wearily. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows that Scott is right. He desperately needs sleep, and if he stays at the clinic, he’ll be up checking on Lydia every ten minutes. The house is empty when they get there; his father is probably working night shift. He makes himself his tea and goes into the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to find that he does still have a bottle of Lunesta there. He still sleeps at home two or three times a week. He takes the pill and collapses into bed.

He tosses and turns for a little while, unable to fall asleep even with the drugs. He forces himself to be still because he knows he’s keeping the others up. After about a half hour has gone by, he decides to get up and do a little baking to soothe his nerves. If his father has the ingredients, he can make some of Lydia’s favorite cookies, little almond cookies.

There aren’t any almonds, though, so he goes with her second favorite, which are lemon cookies. He’s barely cut the first lemon in half when he hears voices somewhere else inside the house. He shakes himself a little and pokes his head back upstairs, holding the knife out in front of himself like it would make a damned bit of difference against ninety percent of what they fight. The pack is still asleep, curled up together. Derek is still in his human form, probably to make Cora feel better about the fact that she can’t do the full shift. Stiles shakes his head and goes back downstairs. “Jesus,” he mutters, and then jumps because he could swear he hears someone laughing. He knows that laugh. It makes every hair in his body stand on end.

Stiles forces himself to stop and just breathe for a minute. He’s sleep-deprived and punchy and hallucinating. “You need sleep,” he says to himself, hoping that it sounds firm and not terrified. He’ll just put the lemons away and then –

“Stiles,” a voice says behind him, and he gasps, whirling around, seeing the hulking form of alpha Peter standing in his kitchen, teeth bared and gleaming, and he stabs the knife forward without a shred of thought. It hits flesh with a solid thunk, and there’s a noise that doesn’t sound at all like Peter. Stiles realizes that he’s squeezed his eyes shut, and he forces them open.

It’s not Peter in the kitchen. It’s Boyd. And he’s blinking down at the knife that Stiles just put in his chest like he’s not sure why it’s there. He looks back up at Stiles. “Are you okay?” he asks, and then collapses onto the floor.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Monday chapter! I couldn't leave you guys on that cliffhanger too long. I'm evil, but there are limits! <3

 

Stiles manages to catch Boyd as he sags to the ground and get him lying down. It’s the last moment of coherence he has before dissolving into complete hysterics. “Daddy!” he screams, completely forgetting that his father isn’t home. “DADDY!”

It might not bring his father, but Derek comes bolting down the stairs mere seconds later, with Erica on his heels and Cora right behind her. “Holy shit, Stiles,” he says, seeing Stiles kneeling over Boyd. He grabs a dish towel and goes to his knees beside them. “Erica, call 911!” he snaps. “Stiles, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Stiles sobs. “I thought it was Peter. I got confused. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t,” Boyd coughs wetly. “Shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles moans. “Please, please don’t die, I’m so sorry.”

“Stiles, take a deep breath,” Derek says. His own voice is trembling, but he keeps it calm and firm. “You probably hit his lung but you must have missed his heart. We’ll leave the knife in until they get him to the hospital to help stem the bleeding. Obviously it’s not ‘okay’ by any stretch of the imagination but as long as we get medical attention right away, I think he’ll survive. I can already hear the sirens, so just, try to breathe, okay?”

“They’re on their way,” Erica confirms. She grabs the towel that Derek is holding around the wound. “Derek, you should shift so you can stay with Stiles at the hospital.”

“Right. Let me grab the vest.” Derek bolts up the stairs and comes down a minute later in his wolf form, carrying the vest in his mouth. Stiles is just sitting on the kitchen floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, rocking himself back and forth and sobbing apologies. The paramedics come bursting in a minute later, and get Boyd loaded onto a stretcher with calm efficiency.

Stiles is in no shape to drive, but both he and Derek won’t fit in the back of the ambulance, so Cora – he’s forgotten all about Cora, standing silently in the background while she watches this go on, he thinks she might have opened the doors for the paramedics – drives Stiles’ Jeep.

By the time they get to the hospital, Boyd has been whisked away. Melissa isn’t working, but Stiles doesn’t even care. Boyd’s going to die, he’s sure of it. After everything he’s done to try to protect his pack, all his bravado in front of Deucalion, he’s killed one of his pack with his own hands. If there’s power to be gained from this, he isn’t feeling it. He can’t feel anything beyond the tearing grief and self-hatred as he sits on the floor in a corner of the ER waiting room, arms wrapped around Derek, sobbing steadily into his fur.

Erica’s waiting with them now, rubbing slow circles into Stiles’ back as he sits there. So she’s the one who looks up when a black woman rushes in and goes up to the desk. “They called me, they said my son was hurt,” she says breathlessly, and Erica jolts to her feet and jogs over.

“Mrs. Boyd,” she says, and the woman turns and grabs her hands, demanding to know what had happened. Erica’s obviously fighting to stay calm, but she says, keeping things vague, “There was a fight, Boyd was hurt, we don’t know how badly yet.”

“Shouldn’t . . .” Mrs. Boyd draws away from the counter and lowers her voice. “Shouldn’t he heal? Isn’t that what happens?”

“We don’t heal wounds when they’re inflicted by an alpha,” Erica says. “Derek said it didn’t look that bad, though.”

“Where’s Stiles?” Mrs. Boyd asks, because she knows how the pack works.

“Uh, he’s over there in the corner hating himself for what happened,” Erica says. “I’m just gonna . . . leave him be for now, I think.”

In the end, they take a seat a row down from where Stiles is sitting. He looks up briefly, sees Boyd’s mother, and just moans, curling tighter around Derek. He’s still there when Deputy Carmichael comes in and walks over to them. “Hey, buddy,” he says, crouching down in front of Stiles. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Stiles looks up, trembling, hands making fists in Derek’s fur. “Where’s my dad, I want my dad,” he says.

“He’s on his way,” Carmichael says, “but there was a nasty drunk-driving accident on Route 49, so he was out there when he got the call. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Okay,” Stiles chokes out, curling up a bit again.

“Just tell me what happened, Stiles,” Carmichael says.

“It was an accident,” Stiles says, looking over at Boyd’s mother and forcing back another sob. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to do some cooking. But I started hearing things. I’m just so tired. He came up behind me and I – it was an accident. I didn’t know it was him, I never meant to hurt him. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, Stiles,” Carmichael says, and gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder. It’s clearly not the answer he was expecting to get. “Okay, you just sit tight until your dad gets here. Your friend’s in surgery now,” he adds, and Stiles gives another weak moan. “They’ll update us as soon as they know something.”

Since the conversation appears to be over, Stiles curls back up, pressing his face into Derek’s fur. Erica is texting quietly, letting the others know what had happened.

About another twenty minutes have passed when a doctor comes over. “Mrs. Boyd?” he asks, as she jolts to her feet. “Your son is out of surgery. Everything went well, it was just a simple chest-tube insertion. They’re getting him settled into a room; he’s conscious and asking for you, so we’re going to bring you in to see him in just a few minutes, okay?”

“Yes, okay, thank you, thank you so much,” Boyd’s mother says, hugging the doctor tightly.

“Hear that, Stiles?” Erica asks, giving his shoulder a friendly thump. “Looks like he’s gonna be okay.”

Stiles looks up and manages a weak, watery smile. Then he just nestles back down into Derek’s fur.

“So what’s a chest tube insertion?” Erica asks, nudging him with her toes. “C’mon, Stiles, Google that shit for me.”

“Nuh uh,” Stiles says, curling even tighter.

Erica and Derek exchange a concerned look. Erica slides down onto the floor with him and says, “He’s gonna be okay, Stiles. You heard what the doctor said. He didn’t even lose that much blood. Okay? It was an accident. Everyone knows you didn’t mean to hurt him, you’re just super stressed, that’s all. It was an accident and he’s gonna be fine.”

“Lea’me ‘lone,” Stiles mumbles, hiding his face in Derek’s fur.

Erica clearly doesn’t know how to handle that, so she doesn’t say anything else. A few minutes later, a nurse comes out and says to Boyd’s mother that she’s going to take her back to see him. Mrs. Boyd gets to her feet and looks down at where Stiles is curled up with Derek. “Do you want to come, too?” she asks him. “I know Boyd will want to see you.”

“Nn,” Stiles says, not looking up.

“Okay, honey,” she says, and follows the nurse.

Erica taps her foot and paces around a minute. “Come on, Stiles, you should come see him,” she says. “You’re his alpha, he’s going to want to see you.”

“Nn,” Stiles says again, and doesn’t respond otherwise. Erica huffs out a sigh and continues to pace, but doesn’t try again. She’s relieved when Sheriff Stilinski shows up. He’s clearly heard what happened from Carmichael, because he doesn’t ask any questions. He just imposes himself between Stiles and the wall so Stiles can curl up against his chest without having to move away from Derek.

“Okay, Stiles, you’re okay,” he says quietly, rubbing his back. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Stiles shakes his head a little but says nothing.

Around dawn, the rest of the pack filters in. Lydia’s up and around, pale but otherwise looking normal. She says she feels fine, just an occasional ‘zap’, she describes it, and Deaton has cleared her to go back to regular activity. Boyd’s asleep at this point, and someone must have gone to talk to the doctor, because Stiles can hear them discussing the procedure and the prognosis, how normally there might be more concerns about complications – embolisms or infections – but such things are extremely rare in werewolves. He survived the initial injury, so he should be fine. The chest tube will come out in a day or two, and he’ll heal up the rest of the way on his own.

The pack goes to check on him in twos and threes. Boyd wakes up around nine thirty, asking for breakfast. He asks for Stiles twice, but Stiles refuses to go see him. The third time, the message comes with a joking request, ‘if he wants to make it up to me, tell him to bring me some of those coconut cupcakes he makes’. Stiles just cries harder when greeted with this request.

“Okay, kiddo,” Sheriff Stilinski says, drawing him to his feet and taking him aside. “Yes, what happened was awful. But it was an _accident_. Boyd knows that. You’re his alpha and he needs you right now.”

“I can’t,” Stiles says, taking a few steps backwards and away. “I just – I can’t! I have – have to get out of here,” he chokes out, and bolts for the door outside without another word. There’s a general cry of alarm behind him, but he makes it to the Jeep before anyone can catch up to him. He slams it into gear and takes off down the road.

He drives for less than five minutes. His entire body is shaking with sobs. He can barely hold the wheel or see the road through his tears. He pulls over into an empty parking lot and curls up in the driver’s seat, crying so hard he can barely breathe.

He doesn’t know how long goes by before his phone rings. He barely even hears it, and he gropes for it with shaking hands, trying to break off another sob. He expects it to be one of his pack, but it’s a number that he doesn’t recognize off the top of his head, although it seems vaguely familiar. He almost doesn’t answer it, but then panic seizes him. What if something else has gone wrong? What if someone is hurt? What if one of his pack needs him and they’re calling from someone else’s phone? He tries to scrape up some self-control and picks up. “H-Hello?” he chokes out.

“Hi, Stiles,” a calm, feminine voice says. “This is Gwen.” It seems like she might say something else, but then she changes his mind when she hears the stutter in his voice.

“Gwen?” Stiles says, trying to figure out why she’s calling him. She never calls him.

“Yes.” There’s the briefest of pauses while she considers her words. “You missed your skype session, and I was calling to make sure that everything was okay. Are you all right?”

“I – ” Stiles self-control breaks and another flood of sobs escape him. He tries to find the words to explain, to calm down, to do anything other than sit in his car and cry, but he can’t.

“Stiles, are you hurt?” Gwen asks, her tone urgent but not demanding. She doesn’t want to upset him further.

“N-No, I’m o-okay,” Stiles sobs. “I just c-can’t stop crying – ”

“Are you safe?” Gwen asks.

“Yeah, I, I think so, I’m just in a parking lot anyway . . .”

“Okay. Can you tell me what’s happening? It’s okay to take your time,” she adds.

“I – I – I hurt Boyd,” Stiles says, and then bursts into a fresh round of sobs. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. He startled me.”

“Is Boyd going to be all right?” Gwen asks.

“They, they said he would be, unless there were complications, which I guess werewolves don’t have, but I, I can’t . . .”

Gwen breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “You can’t what, Stiles?” she asks, her voice encouraging.

“I can’t face him,” Stiles sobs. “I hurt him. He’s my friend and I hurt him.”

“You said it was an accident,” Gwen says.

“It was, it was an accident, I hadn’t slept and Lydia was hurt by the alphas and I was trying to sleep but I couldn’t sleep so I got up and I was gonna make her cookies, but, but I was hearing things and I thought, I thought I heard Peter but it wasn’t him, it was Boyd.”

“Does Boyd know you would never hurt him on purpose?”

“Y-Yeah, but that doesn’t change things, it doesn’t change the fact that I _hurt_ him, I nearly _killed_ him, I,” Stiles says, and breaks off into another sob.

Gwen is quiet, letting him cry for a few minutes, just to lessen the pressure. When his sobs finally start to trail off, she speaks again. “It very much does matter. You didn’t _want_ to hurt him. That matters. It matters to you, and your pack, and I’m quite sure it matters to Boyd.” She lets that sink in for a minute. “Accidents happen. Yes, they can be terrible. But you didn’t mean to hurt him, and that’s important.”

“I should – I shouldn’t ever lose control like that,” Stiles says. “I shouldn’t.”

“It was an accident. And I know it’s upsetting. It’s even good that it’s upsetting, because it means you care about what happened and you care about Boyd. But it was still an accident and it doesn’t make you a bad person. Do you know how I know that?”

Stiles sniffles a little. “H-How?”

“Because you’re trying to get better. You want to be better, and you’re doing the things you need to do to get there, like having sessions with me and letting people help you. Doing these things shows how much you care, about yourself and about the people in your life. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t try.”

“I guess so.” Stiles sniffles a little. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I kind of freaked out and ran out of the hospital without telling anyone where I was going,” Stiles says, cringing.

“Are you ready to go back?”

“No,” Stiles chokes out. “But I think I’d better. There’s like, people trying to kill us and stuff.”

“All right,” Gwen says. “If you still need some time, you can find a nice janitor’s closet and call me back, okay?”

“Don’t you have other patients to see and stuff?” Stiles asks, wiping his eyes.

“Yes, but emergencies happen and I expect them to be understanding. Just like I would ask it of you, if one of my clients had an emergency during one of my sessions with you.”

“Okay.” Stiles breathes out, relaxing. “Okay. I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna be okay. Can you just, just slap me on the books for your next available opening and then text me to let me know when it is?”

“No problem, Stiles.”

Stiles swallows twice and then says goodbye and hangs up. He works through several deep breathing exercises before he dials his father, since Derek’s in his fur. He picks up sounding worried, and Stiles says, “I’m sorry. I’m on my way back to the hospital, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Tom says, and Stiles hangs up and starts the Jeep. His hands are still trembling, but he’s able to drive back to the hospital without incident.

His father and Derek are both waiting just inside the door to the emergency room. “Hey,” Stiles says, stepping into his father’s embrace and reaching down to scratch behind Derek’s ears as he whines, pressing himself into Stiles’ leg. “I’m really sorry. I just – I freaked out. I talked to Gwen, and I think – I think I’m going to be okay now. At least for a bit.”

“Okay,” Tom says, hugging him tightly. “Okay. Let’s go see Boyd, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He swallows hard but lets his father usher him down a couple hallways and into a room. Boyd is lying flat on his back in the bed, while his two little sisters are reading to him. He stops in the doorway and Derek nudges him in the back of the knees, urging him inside. He has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey, man,” Boyd says.

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles says.

Boyd waves this aside. “It’s cool, Stiles. It’s not like you meant to hurt me.”

“It’s uncool,” Stiles says, “and it will never happen again. But, uhm, okay. Consider those coconut cupcakes on the way.” He pulls a chair over and gives both of Boyd’s sisters a quick hug as they cheer the concept of coconut cupcakes. Boyd’s mother takes them both by the hands and leads them out of the room to the sound of their protests, so Stiles and Boyd can have some privacy.

“I talked to your dad’s deputy,” Boyd says. “Apparently since I’m a legal adult, I get to decide whether or not I want to press charges. Cool, huh?”

Stiles musters up a smile. “Pretty nifty.”

“Anyway, I told him the same thing you did, I just startled you while you were having a flashback and it was an accident, so, no worries about the arm of the law.”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

“Speaking of the arm of the law,” Tom says, sitting down in the other chair in the corner of the room. “Stiles, I’ve been doing some research. Figure now’s as good a time to share as any. I still haven’t found any good information on the alphas themselves, but I did manage to identify our witch. Well, sort of. Her prints match a Jane Doe that was brought into a Missouri hospital about six, seven years ago. Badly mauled, presumed animal attack. Actually they presumed it was a dog attack because there aren’t a lot of wolf packs running around the St Louis area, but it was somewhat inconsistent. She disappeared out of the hospital a few days later.”

“That’s weird,” Stiles says.

“Well, if she’s a witch, we don’t know what sort of powers she might have had, even then,” Tom says. “So my guess is that she beat feet so she could do some sort of healing spell on herself and speed the process up. Here’s where it gets weird. I’m not so sure she’s from one of the packs that Deucalion wiped out.”

Stiles frowns. “She said he had taken everything from her. I just assumed . . .”

“Yeah,” Tom says, “but I cross-referenced with all those attacks that you had gathered information on and none of them matched. So I went back to the papers from back then. Turns out several people went missing in the same area right around the same time. I sent their names to Chris to see if he could figure out what pack they might have belonged to, he asked his hunter buddies in that area, and the alpha back then was a woman named Felisha Wilson.”

“Damn,” Stiles says, sitting up. “Felisha the born alpha that we’re currently having a problem with?”

“That would be my assumption, yeah,” Tom says. “Deucalion didn’t kill Jennifer’s pack. He convinced the alpha to do it for him.”

“You know, Ravinder said that he had met Felisha,” Stiles says, frowning. “He says that he didn’t meet her pack except her lupa, who was a powerful Druid. Anyone else thinking that we might have found her?”

“If she was going to let one of her pack live, it would’ve been her lupa,” Boyd says, nodding a little. “Maybe she hurt her so Deucalion would think she was dead.”

Stiles blinks at him. “Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_. Boyd, you’re a motherfucking _genius_.”

“Of course I am,” Boyd says. “What?”

“Leaving aside whether or not you’re right about Felisha and Jennifer, which, it’s a pretty good theory,” Stiles says, “you just gave me an idea.”

Boyd huffs out a breath. “Man, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. You actually sound like your old self again. C’mon, pitch it.”

“All this time, I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it clear to Deucalion that I think he’s a psycho and there’s no way I would kill one of my own pack,” Stiles says. “At least, not on purpose,” he adds with a wince, and his father sighs. “But maybe I’m going about this backwards. Deucalion is arrogant, right? He believes he’ll win, that I’m just another weak-willed alpha who’s as susceptible as anyone else to power. So maybe the best way to protect you guys is make him think he’s winning.”

“Make him think you’ve killed me,” Boyd says.

Stiles nods. “They’re watching us, right? They must be. They nabbed Lydia and Allison so easily at the mall, got you guys as you were leaving the rink the other day. They can mask their presence, so we haven’t noticed them. So they’ve seen us arrive at the hospital. If we publicize your death – Dad, you can make that happen, right?” he adds, and Tom nods slowly, “then they’ll think that I’ve killed you. If I can make Deucalion think that I’m on board with his plan – even if it’s just to build up the power to kill him, like I said – then he’ll stop fucking with us. If nothing else, it’ll buy us some time.”

“He’s going to need more than a newspaper article,” Tom says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “but I’ve had a few thoughts about that, too.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles sits down with the entire pack, cramming them all into Boyd’s hospital room despite the dismay of the nurses. He wants to be sure that everyone understands the plan, that everyone is okay with the plan, and that nobody can spot any giant flaws in the plan. He also doesn’t want to have to explain everything twice. He still hasn’t slept. That’s going to have to wait.

He did explain the bare bones of the plan to Derek, since he’s the one with the most reason to have a problem with it. Derek is understandably hesitant at the idea of working with Jennifer after what she did, but says he’s all right with it as long as she doesn’t touch him. “Don’t worry, I don’t even want her in the same _room_ as you,” Stiles assures him.

“So the thing is,” Stiles says, “if we do this, Deucalion will stop trying to set you guys on fire or poisoning you and that sort of thing. Plus I can get a few of you out of the line of fire. You’ll have to lay low for a few days, but hopefully it won’t take longer than that. I’d like to get the most vulnerable of you out of play, so please, nobody get insulted, but Mac, Lydia, Danny, I think you’re going to be the start of my victim list.”

“Lucky us,” Mac says.

Lydia frowns slightly. “Will he believe you’d kill me after you just passed on doing exactly that?”

“If I play this right, I think he’ll believe anything I tell him,” Stiles says. “If we lay it on too thick, he’ll see the trap. But if I still give him the impression that I’m killing you guys for the power to kill _him_ – that I have no intention of joining his band of merry men – then I think we can do it.”

There’s a round of nods. After a little more discussion, everyone agrees.

“So,” he says. “I’m going to go see Jennifer. Allison, Isaac, you’re with me. Erica, Derek, I want you to stay here with Boyd. Everyone else, you can either hang out here or head back to the den – either is fine, just don’t go alone.”

Everyone agrees to this. Stiles thinks about stopping off to get his chain mail but decides against it. It wouldn’t provide much protection against a powerful witch, anyway. He has his gun, which is in the glove compartment of the Jeep, but that’s the only weapon he has. He leaves it in his car. With Allison and Isaac flanking him, he won’t need it.

Jennifer opens the door when he knocks and looks at him warily. “I haven’t broken our agreement,” she says.

“You say that like I’m supposed to be impressed that you went two entire days without killing somebody,” Stiles says. “I want to talk about Duke.”

Jennifer stands back to let them in. The wreckage from their previous visit is completely gone. Not just gone as in ‘she cleaned up’ but the broken items are whole again, the damaged banister completely back to normal. Stiles sits down in the same spot with Isaac next to him. Allison chooses to stand by the window.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Stiles says. “I don’t approve of what you did. I can think of nine hundred better ways to handle it. But I don’t think you’re an evil person at heart. I think you did what you did because you’re frightened and because you’re crazy.”

“Wow, this speech is really touching,” Jennifer says, giving him a skeptical look.

Stiles shrugs. “Your pack was killed. Of course you’re crazy. If my pack was killed, I’d be crazy. Hell, my introduction to this entire world was someone who was crazy because their pack had been killed. So, putting that aside, I think we should work together on this. You wanted my protection? You have it. You want to kill Deucalion? So do I. We can help each other.”

Jennifer considers this for a long minute. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because I hate Deucalion – probably not as much as you, I won’t say that, but I hate him a lot. I want him gone, not in a car but in a body bag. But like you, I know I can’t do it on my own. We can settle our differences about the rest of it afterwards.”

“Okay,” Jennifer finally says. “What do you need?”

“Bodies,” Stiles says. “Lots and lots of bodies.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy the level of badass in this chapter. =D

 

It’s a little alarming, Stiles thinks, the glee on Jennifer’s face when he holds up the little Zip-loc baggie that contains two of Tsukiko’s hairs. “How did you get this?” she breathes out, accepting it with something approaching reverence. Stiles has kept one of the hairs for himself, just in case they need it later.

“She grabbed one of my betas and injected her with silver nitrate,” Stiles says. “In the struggle, she lost these. It seems that she didn’t notice, since she didn’t try to get them back.”

Jennifer nods and says, “Okay, Stiles. What’s your plan?”

“Well, that depends to a certain extent on you,” Stiles says. “I don’t know if you want Duke to know you’re involved or not. I’d prefer not, because it’ll give him a reason to suspect that I’m not actually killing my betas. So one question is whether or not your grudge against him requires that you kill him with your own power, or whether it’s good enough that he’s dead.”

Jennifer’s fists clench and relax. “I need to see it done,” she says, “but I don’t need to do it myself.”

“Okay. What about Felisha?”

“What about her?” Jennifer asks.

“I know she was your alpha, Jennifer. I know that she put you in the hospital but didn’t tell Duke that she had let you live. I know you were her lupa.” Stiles delivers these statements in a calm tone while Jennifer goes white. “So what are your intentions regarding her? She spared your life.”

“She killed my _pack_ ,” Jennifer spits out. “They were mine just as much as they were hers. My friends, my brothers and sisters. And then she mutilated me and left me for dead. She _betrayed_ me. I don’t owe her _anything_.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, careful to stay calm, since Jennifer is clearly walking a fine line. “So you want her dead. Fine by me. But let’s start with the plan we’ve got.” He stands up. “What should I call you, by the way? I doubt your name is actually Jennifer.”

She lets out a breath. “No, it isn’t,” she says, “but I don’t want anyone calling me by my real name. That person is dead.”

“Jennifer it is, then,” Stiles says. “Let’s get to work.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jennifer’s locator spell leads them to one of the nicer hotels in downtown Beacon Hills. She says she can use the spell to figure out where in the hotel they are, but Stiles is pretty sure they’re going to be on the top floor, in the penthouse apartment. He’s thinking about how much chaos this is going to cause when he goes into the lobby and sees a stroke of luck sitting behind the desk.

Her name is Betsy Santiago, and Stiles knows her because he had rescued her daughter from drowning at a nearby lake after an angry kelpie had tried to drag her underwater. Betsy isn’t completely versed in the supernatural, but she knows that there’s more to Beacon Hills than meets the eye. “Hey, Betsy!” he says, waving as he goes up to the desk.

“Well, hello, Stiles, how are you?” she asks, smiling. She’s wearing an ‘assistant manager’ pin on her shirt. Even better. Jennifer looks between the two of them suspiciously as they exchange pleasantries.

“Hey, so, how would you feel about breaking some rules for me?” Stiles asks her, and Betsy laughs. “I need to know who’s staying in your penthouse suite.”

“Oh, Stiles, I can’t give that sort of information out, you know that,” Betsy says, shaking her head. “That being said, I’m going to go grab a soda from the lounge. Don’t you go looking anything up on my computer while I’m not at my desk!” She pushes her way out from behind the little swinging half-door and even holds it open for Stiles to grab.

“What does it matter?” Jennifer asks in a low voice, as Stiles navigates the hotel system’s menus.

“This is the sort of information I live and breathe,” Stiles says. “You think they’re going to stay here after what happens today? No. We’re going to need to find them again, and having their aliases and credit card information could be more than a little handy, don’t you think?” The system is fairly intuitive. He manages to get the information with relative ease, and shoves the print-out into his pocket.

Betsy comes back a minute later to find Stiles leaning against the counter, still smiling. “Anything else, young man?”

“There’s going to be a fire alarm in about ten minutes,” Stiles says. “D’you mind calling the fire department and telling them it’s just a drill and they don’t have to show up?”

Betsy gives him a sideways look, but says, “Okay.”

“Thanks, Betsy, you’re awesome,” he says, and heads for the elevators. Jennifer goes along with him silently. Allison and Isaac are waiting at a slight distance, making sure that everything stays okay. They weren’t happy about the fact that Stiles is going in alone, but because of the ruse he has to play, there wasn’t any other choice.

“Got everything you need?” Stiles asks, as the four of them get into the elevator and head up to the top floor. She gives him a withering look. He shrugs. “Just asking.”

“Remember, if this goes bad, we _are_ coming in there whether you like it or not,” Isaac says, as they exit the elevator. There’s a small foyer and then a short hallway with only four doors, since it’s the penthouse floor.

“That one,” Jennifer says, pointing. Then she heads for the other end of the hallway so she’ll be further away. She takes a small wooden mannequin about the size of a child’s doll out of her bag and throws it to the floor. Stiles has supplied her with one of Mac’s hairs. The doll flickers and then, suddenly, there’s a body in its place. It’s soaked with blood and partially mangled. He can even _smell_ the blood. It’s one hell of an illusion. It’s even tangible – he reaches down and snags a handful of hair, and he’s able to drag the body along behind him.

“Okay,” he says, “let’s do it.”

Allison nods and pulls the fire alarm. That’ll empty out the immediate area, keep anyone from witnessing what’s about to happen or calling the cops about the noise. Isaac, at the other end of the hallway, kicks down the door to Deucalion’s room and Stiles strides inside. His gaze flicks around the room quickly. He’s standing in a huge, spacious living area with an entire wall of windows that overlook Beacon Hills. It’s a gorgeous view, and the room itself is beautiful.

Deucalion is sitting on the sofa with Felisha. She gets to her feet; he doesn’t stir. Ennis has clearly bolted in from another room in the suite and was presumably doing some sort of workout, since he’s shirtless and sweaty. Tsukiko is lounging in an armchair across the room, picking her nails with a dagger, and she doesn’t get up. JC is standing in the little kitchenette area, holding a beer. It takes Stiles a minute to find Fang, who’s in his wolf form, sprawled out in a patch of sunlight across the room, practically blending in to the carpet. His green-gold eyes have fixed on Stiles, but he too doesn’t move to get up.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Duke,” Stiles says, tossing Mac’s ‘body’ in front of him. It lands with a thud just as real as any noise he’s ever heard. It’s so detailed and realistic that it makes him want to puke, actually. “It did give me a boost. A couple more and I think I might have what I need to kick your ass all the way back to wherever you came from.”

Deucalion sounds amused. “How did you find us?”

“I looked,” Stiles says. “Been a long couple days for me, but I found the time. I wanted to have a chat with you.”

“Well, by all means,” Deucalion says, gesturing to one of the chairs. “Chat.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Stiles says. “I still have absolutely zero intention of joining your super secret boy band. I think you’re a piece of shit. And I’m not here to talk to you. You’re dead. Your heart is still beating, you’re still converting oxygen to CO2, but you aren’t leaving this town alive after what you’ve done. That’s not negotiable. But the rest of you.” He looks around the room, holding his gaze on each of them in turn. Tsukiko still doesn’t look up. JC is smiling, even laughing a little, clearly not intimidated. Fang tilts his head to one side in the classic gesture of canine curiosity. Ennis meets his stare head-on, and Felisha’s lip curls and she looks away. “This is your one chance. Walk away. I don’t know how the fuck he convinced you that he was worth joining. But he is the biggest asshole on the planet. He manipulated you into killing your packs, your friends. Except you two psychos,” he adds, gesturing to Tsukiko and JC. “So I don’t know why you stay with him and I don’t care. Leave town now, never come back, and we’ll call it square.”

“You talk real big, kid,” Ennis says. “What are you gonna do, huh?”

“Let’s start with this,” Stiles says, lifting his .38. He takes a brief moment to aim and then shoots Ennis three times in the chest. The alpha pitches backwards and lands hard on the floor.

“Holy _shit_ ,” JC says, as Felisha runs over to Ennis.

“What, you’ve never seen a gun before?” Stiles asks contemptuously. “Three bullets for the three of my betas that you hurt outside the ice rink the other day,” he adds. Ennis tries to sit up, and blood comes gushing out of his mouth. “You’d better take it easy, bucko. I don’t know if wounds inflicted by alphas with pistols heal or not. If not, you’re gonna have some ‘splainin to do at the ER.”

He turns to Tsukiko, who returns his look with narrowed eyes. “As for what you did to Lydia . . .” he says. She smirks at him as if to say that she enjoyed what she had done. But then a moment later, her body goes stiff and begins to spasm. She thrashes her way out of the chair. JC grabs her as she continues to convulse.

“What did you do?” he shouts at Stiles.

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” Stiles asks. Tsukiko’s body bows and she screams as something snaps. Stiles turns and looks at Deucalion. “Will you show her mercy?” he asks, his lip curling. Then he grabs ‘Mac’ by the hair again. “Get off my territory,” he says flatly. “This is your final warning.”

With that, he turns and leaves the room. Jennifer is leaning against the hall outside, holding the little voodoo doll that she’s wrapped Tsukiko’s hair around and injected with silver nitrate. Stiles walks past her; Mac’s body dissolves back into the mannequin as he does so. Allison and Isaac follow from their respective corners, and they head for the stairs, since the fire alarm will have shut down the elevators.

 Nobody speaks again until they’re on the street. “That went well,” Jennifer says. The voodoo doll suddenly snaps in two and falls from her hands.

“What does that mean?” Allison asks, tense.

“He showed her mercy,” Stiles murmurs.

Jennifer nods. “It means Tsukiko is dead, although it’s impossible to know which one of them killed her.”

“Good,” Stiles says. “One down, five to go.”

“You don’t think any of them will bail?” Isaac asks.

Stiles shrugs. “It’s impossible to say. They’ve stuck with him this long, so I doubt it.” He pushes both hands through his hair and practically sways on his feet. “Jesus. I’ve _got_ to sleep.”

“We’ll take you home,” Allison says quietly.

“Felisha will come for you,” Jennifer says. “Especially if Ennis dies. They’re old friends.”

“No one’s getting to me at the den,” Stiles says. “Once I’ve gotten some rest, we’ll deal with Felisha. I’ll call you.”

Jennifer stares at him for a long moment, then says, “I’m staying at your den.”

“Hah! No, you’re not,” Stiles says.

“You promised me protection,” Jennifer says. “Safety.”

Stiles considers. “You can stay at Deaton’s,” he finally says. “The Druid’s,” he adds, when she starts to ask. “It’s the safest place in the city besides either the den or Chris Argent’s, and trust me, you don’t want to stay with him. You’re not coming within ten miles of Derek again if I can help it. That’s what you get. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” she says.

“Then we’ll drop you off on the way.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Deaton agrees to play host to Jennifer for the next few days while everything is going on, and even invites her to stay at his home, rather than his clinic. It’s just as secure, he promises her. That’s a damned sight more generous than Stiles would have been. But Deaton says quietly that he doesn’t want Jennifer anywhere near Jackson, which makes sense. He’s doing a lot better than he used to, but Stiles knows that the temptation to use black magic will never entirely leave him. Jennifer seems completely unashamed, even proud, of what she’s managed to do with dark magic, so her being anywhere near Jackson is a bad idea.

Stiles suspects that Deaton is going to maybe try to talk to her about the whole ‘black magic is bad’ thing, which is his right not only as a former user of it but as one of the leaders of the Druidic Council. Stiles wishes him the best with it, but he doubts it will actually have any impact on her.

Dropping her off at Deaton’s house is actually helpful because it means there’s one less stop he needs to make. He wants to shower before he sees Derek, doesn’t want his lupa smelling the witch on him after everything she did. He had planned to stop by his father’s house, but since he’s at Deaton’s anyway, he asks if he can use the shower quickly. Deaton has no problem with that.

It didn’t occur to Stiles that _he_ would have a problem with it, but as soon as he’s in the bathroom alone, he has an immediate freak-out. Panic crowds the edge of his vision and he darts back out to find Allison and Isaac. Pride goeth, he reminds himself, and asks if Isaac will come sit in the bathroom while he showers.

Isaac understands the claustrophobia better than any of the rest of the pack, so he sits on the closed toilet while Stiles gives himself a quick scrub. He’s not a chatty person by nature, but keeps up a steady dialogue with Stiles to keep him grounded until he gets out. Then they head back to the den.

 Derek is waiting outside, and Stiles steps into the circle of his arms gladly. “Is Boyd home?” he mumbles into Derek’s shoulder.

“He doesn’t get released until tomorrow, remember?” Derek asks, rubbing his back.

“It’s not tomorrow yet?” Stiles asks fuzzily. He realizes that he can’t remember how much time has passed. He doesn’t even know what day it is.

“Not yet. C’mon.” Derek scoops Stiles up in a reverse piggy back, not even trying to make him walk himself. He carries him up the stairs into the bedroom and lays him down on the cushions. Stiles is vaguely aware of someone tugging his shoes off, and then he’s asleep.

For the first several hours, he sleeps like a rock. Then the nightmares start. Derek shakes him awake several times. They take two separate trips downstairs for tea. Around dawn, he falls back into the same dead, exhausted unconsciousness.

His phone startles him awake, and he fumbles for it. Derek’s still in bed beside him, and he opens one eye, curling his lip back in a snarl when it becomes clear that Stiles intends to answer his phone. Stiles sees that it’s Justin and picks up. “I would love to have some cute greeting right now, but you woke me up, asshole,” he says.

Justin laughs. “Sorry. What time is it where you are? I thought it was late enough.”

Stiles checks. “It’s just past ten. But you know me, I sleep whenever. What’s up?”

“Hey, look, I don’t know when we’re going to be able to get to you,” Justin says. “It’s this damned big-brother-little-alpha system we have going on. Some alpha in China called Mei, they’re having some kind of pack dispute and they wanted to know if we could come mediate. I didn’t make any promises, though. If you need us, we’ll find a way to get there, even if we have to split up.”

“No, I . . .” Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair. “Actually we’ve gotten an assist, a witch who has a real grudge against Duke because her pack was among those wiped out. I think we can handle it.”

“Okay. Call me if you change your mind, though. You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Stiles says. “Good luck in China.”

“Thanks,” Justin says, and hangs up. Stiles just sits there in amidst the pillows and blankets for a minute, breathing. Derek lifts his head and gives a little chuffing noise, nudging Stiles’ elbow as if to tell him to lie back down.

“I have a session with Gwen in an hour, and I’d like to keep it,” Stiles says, and his stomach growls. “Besides, I’m hungry.” He wobbles to his feet, and Derek grumbles but gets up with him, shifts, and starts to dress. Stiles leans against him for a minute, letting Derek nuzzle at his hair.

He’s surprised when he comes downstairs to find his father sitting at the kitchen table. There’s fresh coffee and a box of pastries. “What are you doing here?” Stiles asks.

“Hello to you too,” Tom says, amused despite himself. “I have some information, and some things are better not talked about over the phone. I figured you’d probably be up soon, so I’d come over.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Okay.” He grabs a pastry and fills his face with it.

“To start with.” Sheriff Stilinski taps his mug against the table and waits for Stiles to chew and swallow. “What happened to Boyd wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, Dad, I get it, I – ”

“No,” Tom says firmly. “I don’t mean in any sort of psychological way.” He takes a little orange bottle out of his pocket and sets it down on the table with a click. “You were drugged.”

“I was – what?” Stiles asks, blinking at him.

“I had my suspicions after you told me what had happened,” Tom says. “The Lunesta’s always had some funny side effects – it’s made you sleep-walk on a couple occasions, it’s made it hard to wake you up from your nightmares, it’s made you a zombie the next day – but one thing you’ve never complained about it is whether or not it performs its basic job. The Lunesta has always put you right to sleep. But this time it didn’t. So I took your bottle from the house down to the lab. This,” he continues, rattling the bottle, “is not Lunesta. It’s a designer drug that causes hallucinations.”

“Fuck,” Stiles says. “Fuck my _life_. They planned it all out. They knew I’d stay up with Lydia. They knew I’d head for the house afterwards instead of the den because it’s so much closer.”

“I doubt they knew what, specifically, you might do after being dosed,” Tom says, and although his voice is calm, Stiles can hear the anger underneath, “but it was bound to end badly for anyone who was near you.”

Stiles pushes both his hands through his hair. He should be pissed off, he knows he should be, but instead he feels almost giddy with joy. He didn’t hurt Boyd of his own accord. It wasn’t a loss of control on his part. It wasn’t his _fault_. He giggles a little, leans against Derek, and thinks that he should probably get more sleep. Derek rubs a hand over his back. “Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll take that under advisement. I guess we should throw out everything else at the house. We have no idea what all they might have messed with.”

“I’ll handle that,” his father says, nodding. “In other news, since you passed out, Allison sent me the information you got at the hotel the other day. And I don’t want to know how you got it, don’t even tell me,” he adds, holding up a hand. “I’ve put a flag on the credit card that was used, so if they use it at another hotel, we should be able to find them.”

“Okay. Cool.” Stiles pours himself a second mug of coffee. “I wonder if they’re still watching us. I mean, if I’m supposedly killing you guys off, we can’t all be staying at the den together.”

“No, we can’t,” Derek says, “that’s why the three of us and Cora are the only ones here right now. Boyd and Mac are staying home, since they’re ‘dead’ now. The rest are staying at either Scott’s place or Allison’s.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Okay.” He still feels slow, like he’s not quite running on all cylinders. He asks if they’ve heard anything from Deaton, just to be on the safe side, and Derek tells him that Scott is at work and Deaton is fine. If he’s made any attempts to get through to Jennifer, it hasn’t gotten him anything. Stiles is still thinking about this as he heads up to the study for his session with Gwen. He’s still got about ten minutes, and he needs to make a call.

He scrolls through the list of contacts on his phone. His thumb hovers for a few minutes, and then he taps the number. It rings three times before a professional voice says, “Answering service.”

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Stiles says. He’s done this twice now and he still feels like an idiot little boy playing at espionage. “I need to leave a message for Lorelei White, please.”

“Yes, sir, I can take that message,” the voice says.

“This is Stiles Stilinski from Beacon Hills. Here’s my number . . .” Stiles dictates it to the woman, who says she’ll pass along the message. He doesn’t give any details. Chris had been very specific about this, the first time that Stiles had dealt with Oblivion. The previous times he’s left messages, they’ve called him back within five minutes. This is no exception. His phone rings three minutes later, and he picks up formally. “This is Stilinski.”

“Mr. Stilinski, this is Lorelei White,” the woman on the other end says. She sounds crisp and a little bit British, just like she had when he had met her in Neptune for those few brief minutes.

“Hey, Lorelei,” Stiles says, dropping the formality now as too much effort. “I’ve got a problem with a witch. Specifically, one who’s been sacrificing people to build up power. And while normally I might skip straight to a more permanent solution to this problem . . . I don’t think she’s actually evil. She used to be part of a werewolf pack and they all got killed. She seems pretty much crazy and terrified that the same thing’s going to happen to her. It seemed to me that she might be up your alley.”

“Hm,” Lorelei says. “I’ll discuss the case with my superiors and get back to you.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. That’s what she had said after he had briefed her on the Neptune situation. “Thanks,” he adds, but she’s already hung up. He shakes his head a little but sets up his laptop and flops into a chair.

It takes half the session just to bring Gwen up to date on what’s been going on, but that’s okay. He’s always found talking to her to be cathartic, because she lets him be as melodramatic and flaily as he needs to be. They start to talk about the Jennifer dilemma, and at one point Gwen is talking about some of the symptoms of PTSD that Stiles didn’t develop – decreased capacity to feel certain emotions being the primary – and relating them back to Jennifer. She stops talking for a moment, then says, “Stiles?”

“What?” Stiles jerks a little. “Sorry. I zoned out.”

“You fell asleep,” Gwen says. She’s clearly not angry. “Okay. Session over. You need to go back to bed.”

Stiles thinks about arguing but realizes that she’s right. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll keep you updated by e-mail and we can reschedule when all this bullshit is done with.”

“That sounds fine, Stiles. Are you by yourself?”

“No, Derek is here. He’ll have no problems with cuddle time, trust me.” Stiles loses a few words in a gigantic yawn. “Mmkay. G’night.”

“Good night, Stiles,” Gwen says, lips twitching, even though it’s twelve thirty in the afternoon. Stiles signs off, shuts his laptop, and staggers downstairs. He finds Derek and Cora in front of the television, watching a movie. Cora scowls at him but doesn’t object to his presence. Stiles flops onto the sofa next to Derek, sprawls into his lap, and passes out without another thought.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, everybody! ^_^

 

Stiles sleeps another four hours and actually feels somewhat refreshed and put together when he finally gets up. He crawls into some clothes and does some stretches. The last few days have been hell on his typical exercise routine, modified in the wake of his injury though it may be. He exchanges some texts with the rest of the pack, checking in on everybody.

Once that’s done and he’s gotten some steaks on the grill for dinner, he calls Jennifer. “So,” he says, “Felisha and Ennis.”

“They’ve known each other for years,” Jennifer says. “Ennis was her beta for a while, before he killed an alpha and got his own pack.”

“She turned him?” Stiles asks, pacing around the backyard while he keeps half an eye on the grill.

“Mm hm. That was probably almost twenty years ago now. He was from a rough neighborhood, got himself into some trouble. She decided to give him a hand.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, thinking this over. It’s really anyone’s guess as to whether or not Ennis will live through being shot. Damage inflicted by alphas doesn’t heal as quickly, although it’s faster when it’s between two alphas. But Stiles isn’t sure if bullets count as an extension of his alpha-ness. Typically when one is talking about ‘alpha-inflicted injuries’, they meant teeth and claws. Knives apparently count, but there’s a layer of removal when guns come into play, and he’s not sure what that means.

If he had to bet one way or another, his guess is that Ennis will survive, but that he’ll be down for the count for a few days or even upwards of a week. That gives them some time to plan a next move. “When you say Felisha will come for me, do you think she’ll come alone? Does she need to dole out judgment personally?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer says. “She wouldn’t bring Duke. Needing his help would weaken her standing in the pack. But she might bring JC or Fang. It’s hard to guess, since I don’t know them at all, and I don’t know what sort of relationship she has with them.”

“Okay. We need to get her to a place of our choosing.”

They debate strategy for upwards of an hour. Jennifer has a lot of ridiculous demands that Stiles tries to temper with reason that she wants no part of. She wants Felisha to die slowly, in exquisite agony, and Stiles is guessing that they just won’t have time for that. Jennifer wants Felisha to _know_ who’s killed her and why. That means having a dialogue beforehand. Stiles is less interested in having dialogues, especially if Felisha brings backup. But the truth is that they don’t really know what will happen, and they’ll have to be prepared for anything.

“I need to go pretend to murder a couple of my pack tonight,” Stiles finally says. “Are we on for that?”

“Fine,” Jennifer says briefly.

“I’ll pick you up after sunset.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s far more horrific than Stiles anticipated.

Jennifer’s illusions are brilliant. They would have to be, he supposes. She’s spent years crafting and practicing this false face that she wears every day. In the long run, he guesses it’s not any different from the sending that Sebastian Stone conjured up to attack him, or Jackson’s lizard monster, or the flying monkeys that they had encountered in Oregon. But it _feels_ different, because those were creatures out of fantasy. This is real. Too real.

So when he’s crouched over Danny’s corpse in the woods, he pretty much entirely forgets about the fact that it’s an illusion. The smell of blood is overpowering. It’s all he can focus on. He winds up with Danny gathered in his arms as he sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again. He has just enough presence of mind to at least remember that he has to be careful about what he says, so he adds, “I had to,” and an occasional, “it was for the pack” to keep presenting the motives he needs Deucalion to think he has.

He can’t say why exactly he’s sure that he’s being watched. He just knows that he is. The alphas have known so much about their routine – cornering Boyd and the others at the ice rink, finding Lydia at the mall, knowing that Stiles took sleeping medication – it all added up to extensive surveillance. Hardly _anybody_ knows about the Lunesta – really only the pack, his father, and the doctor who prescribed it. They’ve been watching him, and they’ve gone through his things at least once.

So if he wants Deucalion to really _believe_ that he’s lost his marbles and started killing his pack, throwing Mac’s body at his feet and putting an article about Boyd’s ‘death’ in the paper won’t be enough. He needs to put on this show. If nothing else, it will buy them time.

“Stiles, what – what have you done?” the voice asks, and it’s Scott’s voice, and Stiles has to take a deep breath and remind himself that it _isn’t_ Scott, that Scott is home and safe. The illusion is good, but to be fair – he knows his brother. It doesn’t move quite right, doesn’t say his name with the same force. That helps in the moment, but it doesn’t help during what comes next, when he has to chase the illusion through the forest and eventually cut its throat.

They had talked about this somewhat extensively. He can’t just kill the vulnerable members of his pack and say ‘it’s for the greater good because now I’m strong enough to kill Deucalion’ without some of his pack objecting. If the alphas have done research at all, they’ll know that some of the pack wouldn’t stand for it, Scott being the number one most likely person (or Allison, to be fair, but he thinks he can get away with avoiding Allison because nobody would be stupid enough to kill the Argent princess).

So he runs ‘Scott’ down and reminds himself over and over again that this isn’t real, it’s just an illusion, the blood and the look of shock and pain on his best friend’s face isn’t real, the hollow thump of the knife as it impacts into his chest isn’t real, the choked gasps and pleas aren’t real, _none of it is real_ , and when it’s finally done he leans over and throws up everything he’d eaten.

“I’m sorry, I had to,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay now. I’ll be strong enough to avenge all of you, I promise.”

He manages to get to his feet and stagger away. He leans against a tree and heaves again, but there’s nothing left in his stomach. He’s only barely aware of Derek coming over to him, Derek saying his lines in a soft tone, something like “will this be enough?” Stiles doesn’t remember what they’ve planned. He’s choking down sobs as Derek picks him up and carries him out of the woods, to where they left the Jeep. Derek puts him in the passenger seat and gets behind the wheel.

They drive for a few minutes in silence while Stiles lets a few of the tears escape him. “You okay?” Derek finally asks.

“Jesus, no,” Stiles says. “There was so much blood.”

“It wasn’t – ”

“I _know_ ,” Stiles snaps, then winces and says, “Sorry. Shit, sorry. But – remember a year ago when I tried to go out as a zombie on Halloween and you freaked out because you didn’t like seeing me look dead? Take that and multiply it by about a bazillion. That’s what I just had to do, so . . .”

Derek grimaces. He doesn’t reply with words, but reaches out and rubs a hand over Stiles’ hair.

“I need to see them,” Stiles chokes out. He still feels nauseous, jelly-limbed. When he closes his eyes, he can still see Scott’s blood all over his hands. When Derek opens his mouth to protest, he says, “I know, I know we can’t go over there. I just . . . skype would be okay. I just need to _see_ them, to see that they’re all right.”

“Okay,” Derek agrees quietly. When they get back to the den, he lifts Stiles up and helps him inside. His legs are wobbly. Derek deposits him in the love pit with his laptop and says, “I’m going to go make us some tea, all right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. He’s already got his laptop booting up, and a minute later he’s signed into skype. He sees that Scott’s online. For a minute, his hands are shaking too hard to dial. All he can think about is seeing their bodies when the video starts. Finally, he manages to hit the proper buttons. Then there’s a few moments of silence before the screen flickers to life and he sees Scott’s face.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Scott greets him, and Stiles has to clench down his jaw to keep from bursting into tears. “You okay, dude?”

“No, I – I’m fine.” Stiles swallows hard. “Just a long night, that’s all. The others are there, too?”

“Yeah, we’re like having a party,” Scott says. He reaches up for the camera and plays with the settings until it zooms out. Stiles can see Danny and Boyd behind him, and Mac off in a corner. “We were talking about playing a game but they all want to play Trivial Pursuit and you know they’ll kick my ass.”

Stiles laughs, and lets out a shaky breath. “How about you and I make a team?”

“Oh, yeah, good thought,” Scott says, as people complain in the background that this would be cheating. Scott bargains them into submission by agreeing that the three of them can be a team for the sports and leisure questions, since they know about as much about sports as he knows about technology. (Danny knows lacrosse, but _only_ lacrosse, and the other two simply don’t care. Similarly, Scott might luck out with a biology or anatomy question, but most of the science category goes over his head.)

By the time Derek comes in with the tea, they’ve started the game up, and they put a piece on the board so Derek can play as well. He sits down next to Stiles and quietly sips his tea, rubbing a hand up and down Stiles’ back.

Boyd reigns victorious about an hour later, leading Mac to wallop him with a pillow because she only needed one more chip, and Stiles has relaxed enough that Derek thinks it’s safe to sign off skype and try to make him get some sleep. Stiles agrees to sign off, but says he wants a bath first. He’s just heading up the stairs when his phone rings. He glances down at it and frowns. “It’s my dad,” he says, and picks up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Well, the station has an interesting guest right now,” the sheriff says, “and he’s asking for you.”

“Uh . . . what?” Stiles asks, feeling slow and stupid.

“Medium-sized guy with white hair and pale skin got picked up at a bar after there was a fight. I guess some local drunk said something about his unusual looks, and he took exception. When he got brought in, he ran into me, and – well, I can tell when someone is scenting me at this point. He recognized me as your dad pretty much immediately, because what he said was that he was hoping to meet me, he wanted to talk to you. That was twenty minutes ago and that’s all he’s said.”

“Huh.” Stiles chews on his lower lip. “Okay, I’ll be right down,” he says, and hears Derek give a quiet sigh behind him. But he doesn’t protest. Whatever Fang wants with Stiles, it probably won’t help if they leave him sitting in holding overnight. He doesn’t even argue when Stiles puts down his mug of tea and pours himself a travel cup of coffee instead, before heading to the station.

Fang is sitting quietly in one of the interior cells, although Stiles knows he could break out of it in a heartbeat. He takes the keycard from his dad, but isn’t surprised when Tom only withdraws to the far end of the room, rather than leaving completely. He swipes the keycard and opens the door. “I hear you wanted to see me?”

Fang looks up slowly, his green-gold eyes gleaming as the light hits them at the right angle. He stands and stretches awkwardly, as if he were still in four legs instead of two. Then he steps out of the cell, into the larger anterior room. Derek tenses a little, but doesn’t move. Fang stretches his hands out in front of himself, regarding them solemnly. Then he turns his gaze to Stiles. “You are different,” he says.

His voice is strange, smooth like honey but somehow awkwardly formed, as if he never quite got the hang of making words. It’s not exactly an accent, but it takes Stiles a few brief seconds longer to compute the words. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he says. “It’s the whole human alpha thing, I mean, I – ”

“No. Not human different. Not skin different.” Fang is still regarding him with canine curiosity. “Different _here_.” He reaches out and taps Stiles on the chest, over his heart. “And here,” he says, pressing his finger right between Stiles’ eyes. His claws are out, and it takes effort not to flinch. “It is in the way you look and see.”

“I . . . what?” Stiles asks, momentarily befuddled.

Fang’s gaze never leaves him. “People see what they want to see. Deucalion sees the world and sees only shades of power. Tsukiko, only blood. You do not see. You _look_. You see questions and unraveling threads, and you follow them until you see what is _real_.”

“I guess that’s a pretty fair assessment,” Stiles says, although it’s certainly not anything he would have come up with himself.

A slight trace of frustration crosses over Fang’s face. “I am still not good with words,” he says. “Wolves do not think in words. We think in . . .”

“Scents and images,” Derek says quietly, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Yes.” Fang nods. “I learn. But it can be difficult, making myself understood. Many people think I am stupid.”

“Dude, no,” Stiles says. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re the smartest person in that pack of yours.”

Fang tilts his head to one side again. “Perhaps. But they do not see it that way. They treat me as though . . . I am their pet. A means of entertainment. I am _not_ stupid,” he adds. “I am smart enough to know that I could not survive this world, your world, on my own. I am too different.”

“That sucks, but it’s probably true,” Stiles says. “Even in a town like Beacon Hills.”

“I was young when I was bitten,” Fang says, “but did not know all of what it meant. I knew it meant a new shape. A new skin. I controlled the shift. It was not hard. But the other wolves. They were wary. I was not wholly one thing or wholly another. So when Deucalion came, I thought, perhaps this was what I was looking for. He wanted me to travel with him.

“It was good, for a while. I saw new things. I saw the ocean. I had never seen the ocean. It’s so vast. Hard to comprehend. Simpler things, too. Bacon cheeseburgers. The scent of lilacs. The feel of fabric against bare skin. For some time it did not worry me that Deucalion kills. That is the way of the world, I thought. Over time I have realized that it is not. Wolves, we kill for food, or to defend our territory. Deucalion seeks out the weak and kills them to please himself. I do not understand this.

“I have thought of leaving, but we are so far from my home now. I do not know how to get back there. I would much prefer to run in the woods again, even as omega. To go back to my simpler life. I did not see how I could do it. But you, yesterday. You looked at me. You counted me as one of the pack, did not overlook me because I had four legs.”

Fang gazes at them solemnly. “I thought, you do not deserve to die at Deucalion’s hand. I have thought that before, but with you I felt perhaps I could help prevent it. So I did not tell Deucalion about your ruse.”

“What ruse?” Stiles asks, trying not to cringe.

“The body that was not a body,” Fang says.

Stiles sighs. “Oh, man. How could you tell? Are you sure the others don’t know?”

“The smell. It was not right. Close. It had the smell of a dead body. But not of _her_ dead body, your beta with the blue streaks in her hair. The others don’t know. Their noses aren’t the same as mine. They weren’t born wolves. You pretended to kill your beta to distract Deucalion from what you are doing. And then you killed Tsukiko.”

“Is that a problem?” Stiles asks, trying to feel out the situation.

“No. She was feral. Feral wolves endanger the pack. They get run down.” Fang’s expression is pensive for a moment. “Ennis is recovering. More’s the pity.”

It’s such a human expression that Stiles can’t help but give a snort of laughter. “I hear Felisha’s probably pissed about the fact that I shot him.”

“Yes. They are friends.” Fang frowns. “Felisha. She is difficult for me to understand. Sometimes she smells of sorrow, of regret. Yesterday, Deucalion was talking about killing your lupa in front of you. That was hard for her. She did not like it.” He shrugs a little. “But she will come after you, yes. Soon.”

Stiles takes in a breath, lets it out, slowly. “Okay, Fang – is that your real name?” he adds. “I mean, is there something you’d rather be called?”

Fang shrugs. “It’s as good as any,” he says.

Stiles nods. “Okay. If you help me, I’ll do everything in my power to get you back where you came from. Even if I have to drive you there myself. You have my word.”

Fang regards him for a long moment, then nods. “Yes. I agree.”

“Do you know anything about what Felisha’s going to do?” Stiles asks. “I mean, she’s going to come after me, we know that. But she can’t get to me at the den, I don’t think, which means she’ll have to draw me out somehow. And what about JC? Any idea what he’s going to do?”

“JC will help Felisha,” Fang states with certainty, and Stiles grimaces. “He was fond of Tsukiko. No.” Fang shakes his head. “That is not the right word.” He tilts his head to one side in the canine gesture for confusion or curiosity. “They mated. They did not love each other, but they had a sort of connection.” He shakes his head. “I do not have the words.”

“It’s enough to go on,” Stiles says. “JC’s pretty bad, huh?”

“Yes,” Fang says, “and no. He is not clever, not like Tsukiko was. He likes to kill, but he is . . . simple about it. He likes to _fight_ , likes to use flesh against flesh.” He thinks for a long moment. Stiles glances up as his father comes in with several mugs of coffee and shares them out. Fang accepts one and sips, which makes Stiles snicker a little at the incongruous sight. “Once this happened before. They wanted a wolf but he would not come out. They took hostages.”

Stiles grimaces, and Derek’s hand tightens on his shoulder. It’s about what he would have expected, page one in the villain playbook.

Fang continues. “You are known for having a weakness for the innocent. Felisha will play on that. She will take children, probably.”

“Okay, we have to stop her from doing that,” Sheriff Stilinski says flatly. “”What about someone close to Stiles, instead?”

“They’ve already tried taking pack members hostage,” Derek says, “but with Stiles ostensibly killing off the pack, that won’t work this time.”

“But there’s more people in town that he cares about besides the pack,” Tom says. “What about me?”

“No,” Stiles says.

At the same time, Fang tilts his head and says, “Yes. That would be possible. If I went back to the others, told them that I had seen you together, seen that Stiles cares for you deeply. I have been watching you much of the time over the past weeks.”

That answers the questions about surveillance, but Stiles isn’t in the mood to care about that at the moment. “No,” he repeats. “Absolutely not.”

Tom sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Look, kiddo,” he says. “I’m not any happier about this than you are. But remember, you’re going to have to trust me and Chris and everyone to take care of things while you’re gone. If they’re holding me hostage, they won’t want to kill me, or even hurt me. It would diminish my value. So it’s as safe as anything else we can come up with, and we’re sure as hell not going to wait around until she shows up on a playground.”

Derek looks at Fang. “They won’t hurt him as long as we show up promptly, right?”

Fang nods. “Felisha will not. She would not see the purpose.” He sips the coffee. “JC will tear out his throat as soon as you arrive.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles says. “Dad, _no_.”

“You know, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Tom says. “I’m hardly going to stand there and let him kill me.”

“No,” Stiles repeats. “I won’t risk it. We’re going to have to come up with something else.”

Tom and Derek exchange a glance. Derek proposes an idea that obviously won’t work, and Tom shoots it down. They do that two or three times, gently bringing up the original idea every once in a while to try to wear Stiles down to it. Stiles tugs at his hair and tries not to think about the illusory body of Scott, of the blood on his hands, of Lydia screaming in agony, of Boyd asking Stiles if he was okay before collapsing at his feet. He tries not to think about the incident a few months prior where Matt Daehler had threatened to kill his father and nearly killed him.

Fang loses patience before Stiles is anywhere close to acceptance. “I am tired,” he says, getting to his feet. “I will go and tell Felisha who her target should be.” With that, he walks out, leaving Stiles choking out a wordless protest behind him.

Derek glances at Tom again, then also gets to his feet, pulling Stiles up with him. “Come on,” he says quietly. “I’m taking you back to the den.”

“We’re not . . .” Stiles says, but his voice trails off.

Tom sighs. “I have a few things I need to do myself. I’m going to go talk to Chris. Get what I need.”

Derek nods and pulls Stiles out of the station. Stiles slumps into the passenger seat of the Jeep, arms folded over his chest, clearly furious. Derek doesn’t try to talk him out of his anger. He knows that he would be angry in Stiles’ shoes, that if Stiles had suggested he himself be a hostage, he would be just as upset. There’s nothing he can say that will make Stiles feels better, so he says nothing.

The den is quiet. Cora looks up as they come in and tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. Her gaze darts away, but then she says, “How’d it go?”

Stiles pushes past them and starts slamming around in the kitchen. He doesn’t want to hear anything that Derek has to say.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Stilinski is my favorite. ^_^

 

Since the idea of sleeping is obviously out, Stiles waits until Derek’s not paying attention and takes extra Adderall along with a double-shot espresso, and checks his e-mail. He finds that he has an e-mail from Chris, which is highly unusual. Usually the hunter will call him, since he hates texting.

The e-mail opens with ‘I know you’re busy right now and this isn’t urgent’ which explains why Chris wrote to him instead of calling him. But Stiles finds himself absorbed almost immediately. ‘First of all, I think I’ve figured out why the name Jim Stoddard was familiar to you. It has to do with Gabriel Khan and Ruben Gutierrez. You had asked me of a list of all the hunters that went after the pack of sorcerer-werewolves. Ruben was one, obviously, but Jim Stoddard was also on the list. They were in his territory, up in the Adirondack mountains, so that’s probably where you recognized the name from.’

Stiles pauses to look back through his records and finds that Chris is correct. The previous winter, when he had been trying to figure out what hunter was working with Khan, Chris had sent him a list of the possibilities. Jim Stoddard is second on the list. It’s probably not relevant, then, but he files it away just in case.

‘I’ve gotten more detail about what happened south of Tucson. Apparently there was a pattern to the prisoners that were freed. They were the ones who, like Cora, had been captured without cause. The ones who had actually hurt people or been otherwise causing trouble were left in the prison. I’m more certain that whoever freed them was a hunter who agreed with us about the nature of the prisons. Most likely it was someone at the Conclave, so I’ve attached a list of everyone who attended so we can cross-reference our sources and see if we can determine who it might have been.’

Stiles starts skimming down the list. He sorts by age and location and starts pulling up all the data from his database. Around three AM, he falls asleep in front of his computer.

He wakes up when his phone rings and gropes around for it. He looks blearily at the caller ID and sees that it’s Jennifer. “What,” he picks up.

She sounds just as impatient with him as he feels with her. “Have you seen any sign of Felisha?”

“No.” He sits up and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, which is stiff and angry with him. “We’ve made a study of her past methods.” He’s not about to mention Fang’s involvement to Jennifer. “Apparently when she wants to get at someone who’s gone to ground, she takes hostages. So we’re waiting to hear what might happen.”

“Fine,” Jennifer says. “Call me whenever that is.”

She hangs up before Stiles can snarl something uncomplimentary. He studies his phone and shakes his head. The tension is going to kill him. He’s almost certain of it. He sits back down with his laptop and goes back to what he was doing.

Derek comes in a few minutes later and studies him. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t push him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh . . . huh.” Stiles stops typing, skimming the headline he’s pulled up with a Google search. Derek waits until he collects his thoughts. “I’ve been researching some of the people that might have helped Cora escape. We know it was a woman, we suspect it was a hunter, and if it was a hunter, it’s probably someone who was at the Conclave.”

“Why?” Cora asks, poking her head in. “I mean, you said people heard about the prisons, right?”

“Some people did,” Stiles says, “but my guess is that people who weren’t there might not necessarily have believed it. Certainly they wouldn’t have felt as strongly about it as someone who witnessed the consequences. So Chris sent me a list, and I’ve been going through it.”

“And what did you just find?” Derek asks, because he knows Stiles.

“That one of them is dead.” Stiles swivels the laptop around so Derek and Cora can see it. “Liliana Santos. Her body was found about six months ago.”

Cora stiffens. “That’s around the same time I escaped the prison.”

Stiles nods. “Yes, it is. I think someone found out what she did, and someone wasn’t happy about it.”

Derek turns a chair around so he can sit down backwards in it. “What has the investigation turned up?”

“Well, the husband was of course arrested,” Stiles says, tapping his long fingers against the table. “Let me do a little more research. Fire up the coffee maker for me?”

Derek nods, rubs his hand over Stiles’ hair, and heads into the kitchen. Less than ten seconds later, Stiles is back in his computer trance. Derek brings him a mug of coffee but then lets him be, doing stretches and katas with Cora. She’s taken a liking to doing the katas that Allison taught her, although she won’t admit it.

Stiles comes into the kitchen about an hour later. “So,” he says, “Rick Santos swears he didn’t murder his wife. Has a rock solid alibi. Wasn’t even in town. In fact, he was on a ‘hunting trip’.” He makes air quotes with his fingers. “But the guy he says he was with doesn’t back him up on that. Says he left early to come home.”

“So maybe he actually did it,” Derek says.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Stiles says. “The buddy he was with? Francisco Gutierrez. Brother of Luis and Ruben Gutierrez.”

“Jesus, how many of those fuckers _are_ there?” Derek asks.

Stiles gives a dry little smile. “Eight.”

Derek blinks. “Seriously? Eight?”

Stiles nods. “The Gutierrez family is comprised of eight siblings. Six men and two women. The family patriarch is dead, and their variety of mothers aren’t involved in hunting. Three of them are married – both women and one man – and they have a collection of kids, all of them fairly young. The rest of them are bachelors.”

“Eight kids,” Derek mutters. “Crazy.”

“Started with eleven,” Stiles says, and both Derek and Cora blinked. “One girl died of leukemia when she was young. Two other guys died in hunting related incidents. Ruben being one of them.” Stiles waves this aside. “Anyway. Who else thinks that the Gutierrez family took revenge on Liliana Santos for fucking with their prison, and then framed her husband for it?”

“Seems like a reasonable conclusion,” Derek says, and grimaces. “It’ll be a bitch to prove, though.”

“Well, I’m going to start with Chris,” Stiles says, “and see if he can find out anything. And then I’m going to see what my dad can get me about the investigation that, for obvious reasons, isn’t in the papers.” Somewhat sourly, he adds, “You know, presuming JC doesn’t kill him.”

Derek squeezes his shoulders. “Your dad is going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that, you _can’t_ know that,” Stiles bites out, “so don’t fucking patronize me.”

Derek sighs and lifts his hands in surrender. Cora scowls like she’s thinking about telling Stiles not to talk to her brother like that, but then sees the look on his face and thinks better of the idea. Stiles closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face for a few minutes before he starts typing out an e-mail to Chris. If this goes well, if they can get rid of Felisha and JC, then he’ll only have Deucalion himself to worry about.

Another hour passes. Stiles can’t sit still for reasons that have nothing to do with his ADD. He doesn’t even want to cook or bake anything. It’s just no fun when he can’t see the pack, can’t give them what he’s made. Besides, he wants to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, without even taking the time to throw things in the refrigerator.

By midday, he’s starting to despair. Felisha won’t make a move in broad daylight; nobody would be that stupid. So he’s stuck waiting until the end of the day, and it’s summer, the sun is setting as late as nine PM. He doesn’t have _time_ for this, doesn’t have time to sit around and wait for someone to make the next move.

Derek is out back training with Cora, so he calls his father. “Are you all right?” he demands.

Tom gives an almost inaudible sigh but says, “Yes, Stiles, I’m fine. What did you need?”

“Has there been any activity on their credit card? I want to go on the offensive,” Stiles says. When there’s a noticeable hesitation, he says, “Oh my God. There has been, hasn’t there. And you weren’t going to tell me.”

“Stiles,” Tom says, “I have Chris checking the place out for me. Yes, I was going to tell you once he’s reported back.”

“Well, where is it?”

“It’s a loft downtown. Renting by the month.” Tom cuts off what Stiles tries to say with, “Once Chris has checked the place out, _then_ we can discuss going on the offensive. Okay?”

That’s a lot better than being told going on the offensive won’t be discussed at all, so Stiles breathes out a sigh and says, “Okay. Just – just call me when you know something.”

“Roger that,” his father says, and hangs up.

Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair but goes back to compiling information on the various hunters and trying to find out more detail about the murder of Liliana Santos. Since his father’s obviously busy, he calls his friend Veronica in Neptune. She’s as busy as he is, getting ready for college, but says she’ll see what she can dig up.

Somehow with her voodoo, she gets a copy of the case file in less than an hour. Stiles thinks back fondly to the time when he and Veronica had decided to solve the assassination of JFK, and their fathers had forbidden them from ever spending time together again.

The murder was gruesome, and he gets so involved that some of the tension goes out of him. When his phone rings and he sees that it’s his father, he picks up somewhat absent-mindedly, with, “Yo, Dad, what’s up?”

“This isn’t your father,” a voice purrs, and Stiles nearly drops his phone.

In the end, it might have been a good thing that he got so preoccupied, because his demand of, “Where the fuck is my father?” comes off more startled and genuine than it could have been otherwise. Felisha just laughs at his tone and says they’re going to do this nice and quietly, don’t make any trouble, be prompt and no harm will come to him, come alone.

“I’m bringing my lupa,” Stiles says, stressing the word. He wants Felisha pissed off and off balance.

There’s a strained note in her voice as she snarls, “Fine,” and hangs up.

Stiles jams the phone into his pocket. Derek’s already jogging down the stairs, having sensed his distress, and Stiles nods at him tersely. Cora’s behind him, and she says, “I’m coming, too.”

There’s no point trying to discourage her, Stiles knows. He finds himself thinking more and more of Cora as a miniature Derek from the past, and he knows that arguing would be a waste of time and oxygen. So he just nods at her as well. To be frank, he doesn’t mind having the backup, particularly since he doesn’t want Derek anywhere near Jennifer.

“Where are we going?” Derek asks, as Stiles tosses him the keys. He doesn’t love Derek driving the Jeep, but he can drive faster if only because his reflexes are better. Besides, he needs to call Jennifer and let her know they’re on.

“The distillery,” Stiles says. “She must have figured that was a good place since we had already been there. It won’t give away where their current haunt is.” He takes his phone back out and dials Jennifer. “They’re at the distillery outside town,” he tells her, and gives her the coordinates. “Listen to me, don’t you dare make a move until my father is safe. Is that clear?”

“If at all possible,” she says, “but if I get a shot, I’m taking it.”

She hangs up, leaving Stiles to fume and snarl, “Son of a _bitch_ ,” before he just leans forward and white knuckles the hem of his shorts. Derek burns rubber, and, well. Stiles has had a few upgrades made to his Jeep lately. It’s got more horsepower than your average vehicle, and with every cop in town familiar with it, nobody pulls him over. There are some advantages to being an open secret.

They make it to the distillery in less than fifteen minutes, and Stiles hates everything about it. The sun is just now setting, and Felisha has positioned them in front of it, so Stiles has to shield his eyes as they approach. Other than that, the surrounding field is empty, and nobody will be able to sneak up on them. The born alpha is standing tall and proud with a smirk on her face, arms folded over her chest.

JC is standing by the door to the distillery, and he’s holding onto Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles forces himself to assess the situation rationally. It could be worse. JC has Tom’s arm wrenched up behind his back and pressed face first into the building wall. It doesn’t give him much range of motion, but it’s preferable to JC’s hand being around his throat. He’ll have a few seconds to move before any sort of killing blow could be administered. Stiles had learned a long time ago that werewolves gained strength first, agility second, and speed third. Even alphas weren’t _that_ much faster than a well-trained human. In JC’s other hand, he’s holding the sheriff’s handgun, dangling it from one clawed finger by the trigger.

“Are you okay?” he demands of his father, not even _looking_ at Felisha and JC past that first quick glance.

“I’m all right, Stiles,” Tom answers evenly, and JC is scowling at the perceived slight. He twists the sheriff’s arm up a little higher, and Tom grimaces but doesn’t make a noise.

“Okay, well, here we are,” Stiles says. Derek’s behind him on his right, Cora to his left, and he can feel both of them tensing up. “I’d ask what you want, but it’s probably to kill me, so how about you let my father go?”

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” JC asks, smirking. “I think I’ll kill him with his own gun. I’ll shoot him like you did Ennis. How does that – ”

As he talks, he’s pulling the sheriff away from the wall, clearly intending to turn him around so Stiles can see his face when he’s killed. He doesn’t get anywhere near that far. The instant his grip on Tom’s wrist loosens, Tom starts to twist out of his grasp. He withdraws something from his pants pocket and slams it into JC’s face. It’s a water balloon, and when it bursts, JC howls and staggers backwards, letting go of Tom to claw at his face with both hands. Tom immediately drops to one knee, grabs his spare gun out of his ankle holster, and starts shooting.

With JC less than three feet away, he could barely miss; after the first shot connects, JC turns and runs. Tom is still shooting as he bolts around the distillery and out of sight. Stiles thinks that he probably shot him four or five times before he managed to get to cover.

Felisha is standing, stunned, at this vanilla mortal’s complete besting of her alpha companion. Her jaw is hanging open, and Tom’s gaze flicks to her as he gets to his feet.

“I can’t _believe_ they didn’t search you,” Stiles finally says.

Tom shrugs. “Of course they didn’t. I’m just a piddly little human, remember?”

“Hard to forget,” Stiles says, crossing the space to embrace him. His father hugs him so hard that his ribs creak.

“Didn’t even check for a concealed weapon,” Derek says, shaking his head. “They’ve clearly got no idea what the Stilinskis are like.”

“True, even my _grandmother_ packs heat,” Stiles agrees, laughing a little hysterically.

Felisha is recovering, but she seems somewhat at a loss, torn between retreat and attack. Her moment of indecision is costly. As soon as she takes a step forward, Jennifer appears literally out of nowhere and makes a sweeping gesture with one arm as if she were presenting something. Black powder leaves her hand in a stream and settles in a neat circle around Felisha.

“Damn, nice,” Stiles says. He glances at Derek and nods. Derek’s jaw sets and he backs away a few steps, putting more room between him and the sorceress. It’s entirely for his own comfort; she’s focused on Felisha and probably doesn’t even realize that he’s there. Then Stiles turns his attention back to the proceedings. He saw Deaton make a mountain ash circle like that once, but Jennifer did it even more smoothly.

Felisha realizes she’s caught and spins around, one lip curling back into a snarl. She catches sight of Jennifer and goes utterly still.

“Felisha,” Jennifer says. “You recognize me. I’m a little surprised. I had to redo my face.”

“I would know you anywhere,” Felisha says, her voice barely a whisper.

Jennifer’s mouth goes thin and her body goes tight and tense. “That’s sweet,” she says. “Truly touching. You do know the reason I had to create a new face, right? Because you _mutilated_ the one I was born with.”

Felisha flinches. “How – how are you here?” she asks desperately. “What do you have to do with him? You – ” Her gaze flicks to Stiles and realization sinks in. “You didn’t – you didn’t kill any of them. It was her.” She looks back to Jennifer. “It was you.”

“Honey, try to focus,” Jennifer says sweetly. “This isn’t about Stiles right now. We just have a common enemy, that’s all.”

“I’m not your enemy, Julia,” Felisha says, holding her hands in front of her in a placating gesture. “I – I didn’t want to hurt you. I had to. To, to keep you safe from Duke. I had to make him think I had killed you, like the others.”

“Like the _others_ ,” Jennifer sneers at her. “You say it so cavalierly. You _murdered our pack_. My friends, my family. You killed them. Why?” When Felisha hesitates, Jennifer screams. “ _WHY?_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Felisha says. “I couldn’t help it. I, I didn’t mean to do it, it was just the power, it felt – I can’t put into words what it felt like. I _needed_ it, Julia. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Until you. I couldn’t kill you. I lo – ”

“Don’t you dare,” Jennifer says, in a low hiss. “Don’t you _dare_ say that you loved me.”

“I had to go with him,” Felisha says. “I had to. It was the only way to keep you safe.”

“I would rather have died in the inferno with Karen and Tess,” Jennifer snarls. “I would have rather been stabbed in the gut like Bill or had my throat torn out like Anya! I would have died there happily, would have given my life to protect my pack, if you had asked it of me! But you didn’t! _You_ broke! We could have taken him on, we could have won or we could have died together, but you – you – ” Jennifer’s just screaming now, almost incoherently, as the ground starts to tremble underneath her feet and the entire distillery starts to rattle.

“Holy shit,” Tom says, struggling for balance.

“So don’t you _dare_ say that you did anything to protect me!” Jennifer continues to scream, and one entire wall of the distillery shears away, the corrugated sheet metal making horrible screeching noises and fragmenting into shards. “And don’t you _dare_ say that you loved me! You’re _nothing_ to me now! You _betrayed me_!”

“Julia,” Felisha whispers, but her hands are down at her sides now, and she’s no longer trying to get through to her.

The word has barely left her mouth when the shattered metal explodes outwards into a halo. Stiles dives on top of his father, knocking him to the ground, and moments later another heavy weight covers them both. There’s a huge noise and a shrill scream, and then –

Stiles awkwardly tries to look up, but he’s pinned down. He knows by who; he knows the scent and the heartbeat. “Derek! Derek, are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Derek sits up, coughing. The air is dusty from the strong winds. He starts yanking fragments of metal out of his body, but his leather jacket had protected him from the worst of it. He helps Cora sit up. She had taken some of the shards, too, crouching over the two humans with her brother.

Stiles checks on his father, who’s dusty but fine. Then he looks over at Felisha and Jennifer. The alpha is crumpled in a heap, shards of metal sticking from every direction. Jennifer scuffs the mountain ash circle with her toe, and walks into it. Felisha moans and twitches. “Julia,” she whispers. “I . . . I’m s . . .”

Julia slams her foot down on a shard of metal protruding from Felisha’s throat. Her body jerks, then goes still.

A little bit of a chill goes down Stiles’ spine. He knew Jennifer was crazy, obviously she was crazy, but seeing her dispassionate expression as she finishes off someone that she had loved beyond anything else – he can’t even imagine it. He can’t imagine Derek ever doing _anything_ that would make him willing to cast Derek aside, to even see him die, let alone strike the finishing blow.

Derek clutches at him a little closer as Jennifer turns to them. Again, she doesn’t even look at Derek. Now her attention is on Stiles. “Will JC survive?”

Stiles forces himself to focus. “Dad? Were those bullets wolfsbane?”

Tom shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t have any for the Glock, and my regular gun doesn’t fit in the ankle holster. The water balloon was more water than anything else, but it had enough wolfsbane and mistletoe extract in it to pack a pretty powerful punch.”

“So he’ll lose his face, but he’ll live,” Jennifer says. “Which leaves us with Duke, JC, and Fang.”

“And Ennis,” Stiles says. He’s not about to tell Jennifer that Fang is on their side. He doesn’t want her to know anything that she doesn’t absolutely have to. Later, maybe, but not yet. “We don’t know that he died from the injuries. He’ll need time to recover, but Duke should be our real focus.” He gets to his feet. “Let’s track JC. If we can figure out where he went, we can figure out where the other alphas are holed up.”

“Sounds good,” Tom says.

Tracking JC is easy but ultimately pointless. He was bleeding profusely, and they find a few bullets that he clearly dug out of his chest and tossed off to the side. But the trail ends at the dusty old road that leads to the distillery, and there are tire tracks dug into the dirt. “Bet he and Felisha came here in the same car, and he ditched her ass,” Stiles says. “Seems like the type of thing he would do. If we’re lucky, he’ll keep on running.”

“No,” a voice says, and everyone present jumps, even Jennifer. Stiles practically trips over his own feet turning to see Fang, and Derek grabs him before he can fall. Fang seems oblivious to their surprise. “He will not. He will want revenge, certainly, but also – you do not leave Duke’s pack.”

“I take it this has happened before?” Tom asks.

Fang nods. “Once.”

He doesn’t give details. Stiles doesn’t want them. He doesn’t want to hear stories about how Deucalion has murdered any other wolves. He’s suddenly exhausted and terrified and feeling very small. His father was nearly killed and he just watched Jennifer, their theoretical ally, brutally destroy someone she had loved. He’d like to crawl under his bed for a while.

That obviously isn’t an option for a huge variety of reasons. Stiles still doesn’t want Jennifer anywhere near Derek, but they’ve got things to plan, and he wants this over with as soon as possible. The more time they waste, the more time they’re giving Ennis and JC to recover from their injuries.

Jennifer, meanwhile, is staring hard at Fang. Then she says, “How many of your pack members did you kill to get into Deucalion’s little posse?”

Fang stares at her hard, and shows a hint of teeth as he smiles at her. “I had no pack. Not,” he adds, “that it is any of your business.”

The very human expression makes Stiles crack a smile, and lifts his mood slightly. Since Fang obviously doesn’t care if Jennifer knows about his allegiance, he says, “Fang, Jennifer. Jennifer, Fang. He’s helping us out in return for some favors. She’s helping us out because she really wants Duke dead. Everyone acquainted? Great. Let’s adjourn to a place where we can make some plans.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......this chapter escalated quickly.
> 
> Warnings for some fairly graphic violence ahead.

 

Stiles still doesn’t want Jennifer at the den, and Fang doesn’t want to go to the station again because it ‘smells of many things, all of them noisome’. Stiles wonders where he learned _that_ word. Tom suggests going to the Argent house, since Chris probably knows more about strategy than the rest of them anyway. The others agree. Tom calls Chris – since when are they so buddy-buddy, Stiles wonders – and they head over.

Once Stiles is back in the Jeep with nobody but Cora and Derek for company, he says to Derek, “Would you rather I drop you off at the den?”

“No,” Derek says. “I can handle being in a room with her as long as she doesn’t get too close.”

“Okay.” Stiles doesn’t like it, but hell, he can’t coddle Derek, and to be fair, he wants him close.

When he gets to the Argent house, Allison is there, and he hugs for her for what feels like an hour. Separation from the pack is always difficult for him, separation when bad things are happening is practically impossible. It occurs to him, somewhat belatedly, that he hopes they’re no longer being surveilled. It seems like Fang was primarily responsible for that, and obviously Ennis and JC aren’t doing it at the moment, so unless Deucalion is doing it himself, he supposes that they’re probably safe.

In deference to Fang, who Stiles knows will be uncomfortable in a house that smells like silver and gun oil, and partially because it’s a large gathering, they head into the backyard. It’s warm out, but there’s ample shade and a nice breeze. Victoria provides lemonade, gifts the entire assembly with her laser stare, and then goes back into the house.

“So what are we looking at?” Stiles asks Chris.

“I’ve seen worse,” Chris says, setting a stack of blueprints out on the table they’re gathered around. “The loft has a large metal door and then almost one entire wall of windows. There’s a spiral staircase up to the second floor, and then part of that overlooks the main floor.”

“Excellent,” Allison says. “I know where I’ll be.”

Chris nods at her. “The major problem will be getting in. An ambush is virtually impossible. We have to come in through the door.”

“Can we get in while it’s empty?” Tom asks.

Stiles looks at Fang. “You might be able to help with that.”

Fang tips his head to one side. “Deucalion might leave. But Ennis is injured. He won’t leave the den.”

“I bet he would if we sent part of Felisha,” Jennifer says.

Half the table shudders, including Stiles, but he also nods. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. Would they leave to rescue her if they thought she was being held captive?”

Fang thinks this over. Stiles is starting to realize why some people treat him as stupid. He always has to take a moment or two when asked a question. It’s not a matter of intelligence. It’s a matter of translation. “Given the last few days, yes. Tsukiko is dead, Ennis and JC both injured. He would not want to lose anyone else. And he will be furious to learn you’ve taken her captive. Had you done so.”

“Okay.” Now Stiles takes a moment to think. “Our one real advantage here is that we know what Duke’s plan is going to be.” When the others give him a questioning look, he tilts his chin towards Derek. “He’s going to want to make me suffer. _Especially_ if we leave him Felisha’s head to find. He’ll go for Derek.”

Fang nods. “Yes. He has mentioned this.”

“I’m the first person in a long time to get the better of Duke in even a small way,” Stiles says. “Not only did I kill one of his precious collection, I kicked my way in the door of his den to do it. He doesn’t want to kill me right now. He wants to hurt me. And to do that, he’ll go for Derek. We can use that to create an opening.”

“How so?” Chris asks.

“If he goes for a Derek who isn’t Derek,” Allison says, immediately seeing where Stiles is going with. “Jennifer’s already created good illusions of a couple pack members. If she can create one of Derek, Duke will think he’s got a human shield when instead he’ll be holding a doll we won’t give half a damn about.”

“Yeah, but there’s a problem with that,” Stiles says, “which is that she – ” He points at Jennifer – “is never getting her witchy little paws on Derek ever again. So that isn’t happening.”

Jennifer sighs. “I think it should be pretty clear by now that I don’t have any interest in him that way. Or in any man.”

“Bisexuality exists, you know,” Stiles tells her. “That’s not the point. I don’t give a flying fuck about whether or not you _actually_ have any interest in him. You’re. Never. Touching. Derek. Again. Are we clear?”

Jennifer lifts her hands in surrender.

Stiles takes a moment to clear the red blur out of his vision. “But the premise is still good. Using Derek as some sort of lure, diversion, et cetera.”

Thus proceeds a long round of strategizing, putting different plans on the table and inevitably deciding they won’t work. Stiles hates every plan they come up with, because all of them end with Derek invariably in actual danger. Chris points out several times, his temper thinning each time, that they can’t use Derek-as-bait without some danger to Derek, but Stiles thinks there must be some way. It doesn’t help that Fang is completely tactless as a general rule, listens to every plan, and then states matter-of-factly, “And then Deucalion will kill him.”

After a frustrating hour, Stiles says, “Look, maybe we can convince him someone else is Derek.” He gets a round of skeptical stares and says, “Dude, the guy is _blind_. There must be some way to exploit that.” Warming to his topic, he continues, “Fang, Derek and I smell a lot alike, right?”

Several people tense at this obvious implication that Stiles intends to be the bait himself, but before anyone can protest, Fang replies. “Yes. You have a . . . joint smell, much of the time. You smell of StilesandDerek. There are differences, but they are slight.”

“So if I wore Derek’s clothes and used Derek’s shampoo, and he used mine, then someone could be convinced that we were each other, right?” Stiles says, and Fang nods. “Because I mean, it’s not like Duke knows us really well. He’s met Derek all of twice, and me three times, once there was smoke, once a lot of blood. Or fake blood, whatever. We’re about the same size, and he’s never physically laid his hands on either of us. If we could mess up his sense of smell and hearing even a little, that would probably be enough.”

“That actually wouldn’t be that hard,” Chris says, somewhat reluctantly. “We could use a sonic pulse emitter.”

“That would tip him off that we were intentionally messing with his hearing,” Tom points out. “What about a shotgun? Fire a shotgun close enough and all he’d smell is the cordite, and it would distort his hearing at least for a minute.”

“Hell yeah, a shotgun is exactly what we need, and easy enough to come up with a valid reason to use near him, I mean, I’d be up to shoot Ennis a few more times,” Stiles says. “And then we – wait for it – once he grabs me, _then_ we can have Jennifer use me to do her witchy witchcraft, instead of Derek.”

He’s quite proud of this plan, really. He thinks it covers all the bases. It’s clear that nobody else likes it. Well, that’s not true. Jennifer is giving a nod, like she can work with this, and Fang doesn’t seem to care one way or another, and at least he’s not saying ‘and then Deucalion will kill you’ like he has every other time. But Tom, Chris, Allison, and Derek are all giving him identical looks that are a mix of skepticism, disapproval, and long-suffering resignation.

“So let me get this straight,” Chris says. “You won’t allow Jennifer to have a hair from Derek so she can use him, the actual focus of Deucalion’s attention, but you’re fine with her having one from _you_?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, and glares at Chris.

Tom scrubs a hand through his hair. “I suppose we should just be grateful that you’re not trying to poison yourself again.”

Stiles brightens. “Hey, you know – ”

“No!” several voices say, simultaneously.

“Well, fine, be that way,” Stiles says.

They stay at the Argent house another hour, discussing details. Finally, everything is covered not only to Stiles’ satisfaction, but to Chris’, who holds much more exacting standards. Far too many of Stiles’ plans involve ‘all hell breaks loose’ as an actual step for Chris’ comfort. Tom and Derek are likewise thrilled to have a plan without ‘and then we take Stiles to the hospital’ listed.

“When?” Stiles finally says.

“Now.” Fang stands.

“Now?” Stiles sputters despite himself.

Chris nods. “The sooner the better. JC has probably already gotten back to Deucalion’s den and told him that the last he saw, Felisha was facing down a pretty pissed off alpha, two betas, and a human with inexplicably dangerous weapons and very good aim. Since she hasn’t gotten back, Deucalion already knows that she’s either dead or captured.”

“Jesus.” Stiles gets up as well. “I need to get back to the den and take a quick shower with Derek’s soap, then.”

“I need to get some things together,” Chris says. “We don’t want to rush this. We’ll have Jennifer deliver the message and give Deucalion a time and place to meet us. Let’s give ourselves two hours to prepare. Then once Deucalion has left their den, we’ll take our positions.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles says, and lets out a breath. This is good, he thinks. One way or another, everything will be over by the time the moon sets, and that, he can handle.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The Hale house has three different showers, in deference to how many teenagers wake up there on any given day, so both Derek and Stiles are able to duck into the shower without it being a problem. Stiles gets out first and dresses in one of Derek’s most well-worn Henleys and a pair of jeans. They’re loose on him, but a belt holds them up fine. He goes downstairs to find his father in the kitchen, waiting for him. Cora is in the yard, he sees, practicing her katas.

He wants to bake but knows that it will change his scent, and forces himself to have tea instead of coffee because he’s already jittery enough. The sheriff is sitting at the kitchen table, calmly reassembling the shotgun he’s going to be carrying.

Since silence has never been Stiles’ forte, he starts a conversation. “You were pretty badass today, Dad,” he says, trying not to think about the way his heart had been in his mouth the entire time.

“What can I say?” Tom replies. “Your old man’s been working out.”

Stiles considers that for a few moments. “Yeah,” he finally says. “You have. But it’s more than that. You and Chris working on cases behind my back, Chris teaching you how to fight werewolves, you . . . I guess you’ve been spending a lot of time together, huh?”

“He’s been showing me some of the ropes, yeah,” his father agrees, and there’s a tension in his voice that it takes Stiles a minute to pin down.

“Is this . . . about what happened with Matt?” he finally asks, and his father’s stony expression is answer enough. “Dad, it wasn’t . . .”

“I know,” Tom says wearily. “Stiles, I do know that it wasn’t my fault. Matt is one hundred percent responsible for his own actions. But that doesn’t change the fact that I watched you get hurt, nearly killed, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I can’t change what happened. But I don’t want anything like it to ever happen again.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath. He hasn’t really thought about this, hasn’t thought about the impact of his injury on anyone else. He had been preoccupied with the recovery, focused on that – as his father would no doubt say he should have been – and he had noticed that his father had been a little clingy, but that seemed normal to him, really. He was used to clinginess from the pack, particularly after he had been hurt. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that his father wasn’t normally like that, not in the same way.

“Have you . . . talked to anyone about this?” he finally ventures.

Tom glances over and gives him a wry smile. “Yes. Mandatory psychological counseling in the aftermath of having ‘killed Matt’, if nothing else.”

“I’m not sure that counts,” Stiles says, since his father hadn’t actually killed Matt, and that was precisely what was bothering him.

“Not really, no,” his father agrees. “But I knew I needed to talk to someone, so yes, I talked to Chris. He knows at least a little of what it’s like, since Allison’s been injured once or twice, with your pack, or on a hunt. And since he and I are going to have to work together closely while you’re at school, it seemed as good a time as any to get to know him a little better.”

“That makes sense,” Stiles says. “So he, uh, he’s been teaching you the tricks of the trade?”

“Well, the water balloon was inspired by you,” Tom says, slightly amused, and reaches over to tousle Stiles’ hair.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t search you,” Stiles says, glad to lighten the mood.

“You know as well as I do that fighting someone isn’t just about physicality,” Tom replies. “It’s about understanding your opponent. I’m just a mere human. A hunter, or even a human belonging to a pack, they would have searched, but not me.”

Stiles nods. Arrogance is the real downfall of this alpha pack. Arrogance is why Deucalion believes he’s killed off a third of his pack already.

“Kid, this plan of yours . . .”

Stiles sighs. “You hate it.”

“In a word, yes.” Tom shrugs. “Logistically, it’s sound. But Jennifer’s going to turn on you the minute Deucalion is dead. Are you prepared for that?”

“I’m making arrangements for Jennifer,” Stiles says. And he is. He’s already called Lorelei again and given her an update on the situation. He’s not particularly worried about her ability to get there in time. He’s not sure exactly who or what Lorelei is, but she had turned up pretty much immediately for Cassidy, and he doubts this will be different.

Tom gives him a sideways look. Then he nods and decides against asking for details. “Okay.”

An hour later, they’ve left the den. Cora is yet again scoffing at Stiles’ baseball bat. He doesn’t bother to tell her that he beat Kali Steele with it, and a number of other supernatural nasties. He likes his baseball bat, but he probably won’t have much use for it in this particular situation. He’s bringing the big guns with him this time, and as far as he’s concerned, if Chris and Jennifer want to kill every alpha standing except him and Fang, he’ll just stand back and applaud.

“I like not being the muscle,” he says, and Derek gives a snort of laughter despite himself.

They park about a block away from the loft that’s been rented and walk there in silence. Chris and Allison are already there. They have to wait for Jennifer, but she arrives on schedule. Fang is with Deucalion, having gone straight back after their meeting.

By now, Deucalion will have found Felisha’s body. Jennifer is the one who got to knock on his door and then disappear, leaving Felisha’s finger and a note saying where they could go for the rest of her. The loft is dark and silent, so it seems they took the bait. The large metal door doesn’t have a lock, and slides open easily. Chris goes in first, pointing his gun at every dark shadow until he’s satisfied that the place is empty.

It still doesn’t exactly qualify as an ambush. The alphas will know they’re there, from their scent and their heartbeats, so there’s no point in hiding. Allison and Chris will be under some cover, in the loft, and Jennifer has her own methods for being undetectable. As soon as she enters, she stands towards the back of the room and gradually fades out of view.

That means that Stiles, Derek, Cora, and Tom are all going to be easy targets. Stiles positions them all slightly apart from each other, so they have room to fight. If it comes to that. He’s hopeful that it won’t.

The first part of the plan goes absolutely without a hitch, which makes it the first time that has ever happened in his life. Ennis, clearly furious about Felisha’s death, charges into the main room as soon as he realizes that people are there. He goes for Stiles with fangs bared and a snarl on his lips, and takes a chest full of buckshot from Tom’s shotgun.

Within the confines of the small room, made mostly of stone and glass, the sound echoes and rolls. Even Stiles flinches away from it. Ennis staggers, goes to one knee, but then gets back to his feet with a roar. No sooner has he done so than he takes an arrow through the throat and a bullet through the head. The force of the bullet from Chris’ rifle spins him halfway around and almost all the way across the room. This time, he doesn’t get back up.

While all this is happening, the second predictable thing happens. JC, master of survival and protector of his own ass, again turns tail. He might want revenge, but he’s clearly not going to stick around when there are people with guns who know how to use them.

He gets two steps closer to the door when Fang, fully shifted, takes him by the throat. JC goes down with a howl that’s abruptly cut off in a spray of red.

Another arrow sings through the air and Deucalion grabs it just before it can hit him in the neck. He half-turns, smirking in Allison’s direction, and then the head of the arrow explodes right in his face. He staggers, just slightly, taken off guard more by the noise and the acrid smell of smoke than anything else. Then he lunges forward with a roar, shifting as he goes.

There’s just the briefest moment of hesitation as his gaze swings between Derek and Stiles, trying to figure out who’s who, and then – then he does something that Stiles didn’t anticipate. He wheels towards the teenager and throws him out of the way. Stiles is okay in a fight, about on par with the average beta, but Deucalion’s strength takes even him off guard. He slams into his father and sends them both sprawling, his baseball bat flying out of his hands and landing a few feet away. By the time he gets to his feet, he sees that Deucalion has Cora by the throat.

Of course, the logical part of Stiles’ brain thinks. If he can’t figure out where Derek is, going for Cora is a good alternative. Doing anything to her would kill Derek, and Deucalion obviously knows it. Even in his wolf form, the smirk on his face is plain to see. “You are tricky, Stiles, I will grant you that,” he says, lifting Cora off her feet, dangling her above the ground. She chokes and kicks at him, to no avail. “And you’ve robbed me of my pack, which is problematic for me.” He glances down at JC’s body, then at Fang. “We’re going to have words later, you and I.”

Fang snarls at him from where he’s crouched down over JC’s body, clearly unafraid. “Can’t control me. I am not your _pet_.”

“Clearly,” Deucalion says.

“Please,” Derek says, taking a step forward. “Let Cora go. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Oh, I don’t want to hurt her,” Deucalion says. “I want her to live a long life thinking about how you heroically sacrificed yourself for her.” He shrugs one shoulder. “You I just want to kill.”

“Okay.” Derek lets out a breath. “Okay. Cora, it’s okay.”

Cora strangles out an indecipherable plea, and Stiles grabs Derek by the hem of his shirt as he starts forward. “Derek, no,” he chokes out.

“It’s okay, Stiles.” Derek’s gaze is unfathomable. “Remember what you told us. You said you trusted us.”

“But – ” Stiles protests, but then he stops cold, because he has a squirming, nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knows what Derek’s up to, and he hates it almost as much as the alternative. “How do you know he won’t just kill you both?”

“He won’t,” Derek says, looking back at Deucalion. “A quick and easy death would never satisfy him.”

Deucalion smiles. “You might just be smarter than your alpha, Derek. Come on, now, if you’re coming.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand, then drops it and walks forward. Stiles swallows hard as he watches him go, watches him lift his hands out in front of himself in surrender, watches him walk right over to Deucalion. The alpha lets Cora go, giving her a little toss so she lands in a heap besides Stiles and his abandoned bat. There’s a split second when he’s not holding either Hale, but it’s just too short for anyone, even Chris Argent, to get a shot off. Deucalion is just too fast, too strong. He grabs Derek around the neck, gives Stiles one final smirk, and then his claws rend through the flesh. Derek goes to his knees and then falls face down onto the floor with his throat torn out.

Except it isn’t Derek.

Stiles knows that, because he knows Derek, he’s bound to him, he can feel everything Derek feels. There’s no pain, no rush of fear and then blank silence. His bond to Derek still emanates the same steady reassurance it always does. Allison, in the balcony, can feel the same thing. They both know that Derek is still alive, that what they just saw was an illusion, no doubt courtesy of Jennifer Blake.

But Cora doesn’t.

Cora isn’t bound into their pack; she can’t feel Derek the same way. And as she watches her brother fall, she launches herself back to her feet with a scream, grabbing Stiles’ baseball bat on her way up. And again there’s that split second where Deucalion is vulnerable, where Derek has just left his hand and he’s focused on his victory –

And this time that second is enough. The baseball bat catches him right upside the chin, and he goes staggering. The silver wire bites into his skin, leaving red welts in its path, and he howls. Cora pivots neatly and brings the bat down again hard in a move that Allison had taught her just the week before. It slams Deucalion down into the floor with enough force that pieces of the stone floor go flying everywhere in chips. Deucalion struggles to get back to his feet, but Cora is still screaming as she brings the bat down again on his face.

“Cora!” It’s Derek’s voice as he emerges from the shadows of the loft, whole and intact and fine. Even knowing he hadn’t been hurt, Stiles feels a well of relief at the sight. “Cora, it’s okay, I’m okay!”

It takes a minute for Derek’s voice to penetrate Cora’s rage, as she continues to beat Deucalion to a bloody pulp with the baseball bat. When she finally looks up, her face is splattered with blood and her eyes are shining crimson.

“I’m okay,” Derek says, holding his arms out to her. “Cora, I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m okay.”

With a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a scream, Cora drops the bat. It hits the floor with a clatter, and she stumbles into Derek’s arms. He hugs her as tightly as he can, lifting her off the floor a little and murmuring reassurances into her ear. Stiles looks down at Deucalion’s body and thinks that he never could have predicted _that_.

“He’s all right,” Tom chokes out, his eyes wide as they track between ‘dead’ Derek and living Derek.

Stiles nods a little and jerks his chin towards Jennifer, who’s leaning against the wall of glass. “He gave her a hair when I wasn’t looking. Right, Der?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, smoothing down Cora’s hair as she sobs into his chest. “I just thought . . .”

“You thought my plan was stupid,” Stiles says, and Derek looks a little chagrined, but nods. Stiles sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “you were probably right.”

“Jesus,” Tom says. He’s pale and a little shaky, and surprises Derek by getting an arm around him and hugging him tightly, though without making him let go of Cora. Derek leans into the embrace.

“Sorry, Dad,” Stiles says. “I would’ve said something, but if Duke had caught onto the ruse . . .”

“Yeah, I get it,” his father says. “Doesn’t mean I liked it, but I get it. I’m just glad he’s all right.” He gets an elbow around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him in so all four of them are in the hug, and Stiles leans into it, and he stands there for a long time.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up, wrapping up~

 

Everything’s quiet for a little while. Allison and Chris descend from the loft; Allison gives Derek a hug while Chris squeezes Tom’s shoulder. Stiles just stands there and _breathes_ , centers himself after the events of the past week. He’s ready for the world’s longest nap. But there are a few things to take care of first. He pulls away from the group hug, walks over to Jennifer and holds his hand out. “Derek’s hair,” he says, “and mine. Now.”

Jennifer looks at him with a glint in her eye and it’s clear that it’s not going to be as easy as that, but before she can do or say anything untoward, a woman walks in through the door. Lorelei White looks almost exactly the same as she did the last time Stiles saw her, at the Neptune Grand. She’s a tall woman who looks ordinary but somehow gives the impression of having been forged from iron. Her dark hair is short and neat and she’s wearing a plain black woman’s suit. The last time it had been with a white blouse. This time the blouse is forest green, and she’s wearing a pencil skirt instead of pants.

“Mr. Stilinski,” she says, in her crisp, formal tone.

“Hey,” Stiles says, because he’s too tired for formalities.

He’s trying to work out a way to do introductions without a catastrophe – hey everyone, this is the woman who’s going to take Jennifer to prison – but Jennifer gets it immediately. She looks at Stiles and her eyes have that ghostly white to them. “You _dare_ call Oblivion on _me_?” she snarls, and everyone in the room goes immediately tense as power surges around her and Stiles is thinking this is just great, he’s going to get splattered all over the far wall.

He has no idea what happens next.

One minute he’s standing there watching Jennifer gather enough power to blast him into flinders, and the next he’s watching Jennifer stand with her head down as if she’s suddenly fallen asleep. Her hands are in front of her, bound neatly in thin silver chains. Lorelei is holding the other end of those chains, standing a few feet away from Jennifer, nowhere near where she had been a moment previous.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Stiles blurts out, stunned. He doesn’t know if that was mind magic or Lorelei can actually stop time or if she’s honestly just that fast.

Lorelei arches an eyebrow at him. “I’m tasked with bringing some of the world’s most dangerous criminals into containment,” she says to him. “Did you think I got the job as the prize at the bottom of a cereal box?”

“Uh, no, I just, uh, holy shit,” Stiles stammers. He gestures to Jennifer and repeats, with emphasis, “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

Lorelei’s eyes gleam with amusement, although her expression doesn’t change. She holds out a hand to Jennifer, and then a moment later she’s holding two short hairs in her fingers. “Yours and Derek’s,” she says, and they go up in a small puff of smoke. “I trust this is satisfactory?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Uh. Thanks, and all that.” He feels like there’s something else he should say. “She’s not – I mean, she killed people and she was about to kill me, but I don’t – I don’t think she’s – ”

Lorelei sighs. “We have our own methods for evaluating the prisoners,” she says, “but I will relay your opinion to my superiors.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Thanks.” He hesitates as she turns to go, Jennifer drifting behind her like she’s in a dream. “Oh, hey, are we – is it kosher to ask about inmates? Like, how they’re doing and stuff?”

There’s a pause as Lorelei glances over her shoulder at him, and then she nods. “To be honest, I don’t know that it’s come up before. But Mr. Casablancas is doing well. As well as could be expected.”

She’s gone without another word, with Jennifer trailing in her wake.

“Wow,” Stiles says.

Derek gives a hum of agreement.

“You know,” Stiles says, “it’s actually kind of comforting to know that as much as I’ve apparently got a reputation as a badass, there are still people out there who are about nineteen times more dangerous than I am.”

“Yep,” Derek says. “As long as they’re on our side.”

“I don’t think Lorelei chooses sides,” Stiles says. He rakes both hands through his hair, exhaustion emanating from every pore. “Okay, Allison, fire up the phone tree. Let everyone know Duke and Jennifer have been handled and the pack is wanted at the den pronto.”

“You got it,” Allison says, taking out her phone.

Stiles hugs his father, thanks Chris for his help and shakes his hand. “I could kill for a beer,” Chris says, to which Tom replies, “First round’s on me,” and the two of them leave the loft together. Stiles looks after them and decides that he’s glad that his father has found a friend that he can bond with over the dangerous supernatural shit that threatens their lives. For a long time, Tom was suspicious of Chris, and blamed him – or at least his family – for a lot of what had happened. Stiles thinks that he was faster to forgive Chris than a lot of the other people involved.

Derek helps Cora to her feet. She’s shaky, but steadying out. Stiles can vividly remember becoming an alpha, even if he didn’t realize until almost two hours later what had happened. He remembers how everything seemed clearer, more vivid, how he could feel power in his veins like blood.

Cora being an alpha complicates matters immensely. The idea of making a home for her in some nearby pack won’t work anymore. Stiles sighs and shelves it for later. He can barely see straight, let alone think straight.

“Holy shit,” he suddenly says.

“What?” Derek asks, going tense.

“I’m – I’m not going to the hospital. I’m not hurt!” Stiles rocks back and forth on his heels. “We had a plan and it sort of worked and we killed the bad guys and I’m not heading to the hospital! How did _that_ happen?”

Derek looks like he has a headache.

Somehow, he gets back to the den. There are people everywhere and after everyone has been hugged half to death, he heads straight for the pile of cushions in the bedroom and collapses there. The idea of sleep is better than anything else that could be offered him at the moment. His phone chimes to indicate that he’s received an incoming text and he doesn’t even look at it. Everything can wait at this point. He curls up with wolves on either side and at least two draped on top of him, and passes out.

He’s not sure how long he sleeps, but when he wakes up, the room has emptied somewhat. He’s sprawled out on his back with Erica’s chin resting on his chest. Lydia is curled up next to him, pinning down one of his arms, and Boyd and Isaac are curled up at his feet. He carefully extracts his arm from underneath Lydia and rubs a hand over his face somewhat blearily before shambling to the bathroom.

His phone has two messages on it. They’re both from Justin. The first is the one he must have gotten right before passing out. It reads, ‘just finished up in China, on our way to you’. When he doesn’t get a response, he texts again about an hour later. ‘Hope everything’s ok,’ it says, and that’s all.

When he gets out of the bathroom, Erica’s awake and shifted back. “Hey, you,” she says, stretching in a way that reminds him that he has a libido.

“Hey. How long was I out?”

Erica glances at a clock. “About fourteen hours. Derek tried to get everyone to go do drills when we started waking up, but everyone told him to go to hell. He’s in his studio, pouting. Breakfast?”

“It’s one PM,” Stiles says.

Erica shrugs. “Most important meal of the day.”

Stiles gives a snort of laughter. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.” First he heads into the shower. He wants some time to get his thoughts in order, before he goes to see Derek and tackle the Cora issue. He heads downstairs about twenty minutes later. Scott, Mac, and Danny are playing video games. Jake is sprawled out by them, typing on his laptop. Allison is leaning over his shoulder, one hand loosely curled around Scott’s calf. They look up when he comes in, and he exchanges a few hugs and greetings. “Hungry?” he asks, and most of them are.

“We figured you would want to cook so we went out and got some stuff for you,” Scott adds, smiling. “For your benefit, of course.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, amused. He decides to check on Derek first. As stated, he’s in his studio. Cora is curled up on the small, battered armchair, asleep, while Derek works in charcoals. “How is she?”

“She’s okay,” Derek says, getting up to nuzzle at Stiles’ hair and leave a smear of ash across his forehead. But his demeanor is serious as he studies his sleeping sister. “Stiles, what are we going to do? I love my sister. But . . .” He trails off, and Stiles waits to see what he’ll say. Finally, he says, “But she can’t stay here, can she. She’s not right for this pack – even before she was an alpha. She needs to learn what it’s like to be part of a pack again, and she’ll never get that from us. There’s just too much . . . too many complications.”

Stiles lets out a breath. “I’ll talk to Justin. If we’re lucky, the alpha pack will take her in.”

Derek brightens a little. “Yeah. That . . . that would be good for her, I think. I just . . .”

“I know,” Stiles says. “You don’t want to let her go.”

“Yeah.” Derek nods and drops a kiss on the crown of Stiles’ head. “But maybe being here isn’t the best thing for her. I know Justin would take care of her. So maybe that’s a good idea. Maybe he can help her. I know he helped us.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “What if she wants to take the Hale territory from you?”

Stiles is quiet for a minute. He thought about that a lot while he was in the shower. “Then she can have it,” he says, and Derek gives him a surprised look. “She can’t have my pack, and she can’t . . . she can’t take you away from me, although I’d be happy to share you with her. But this territory, this _place_ . . . it isn’t important to me the way it is to you. She couldn’t hold it right now, but if she wants it back once she’s gotten back on her feet, if she puts together a pack of her own, she can have it. We’ll find our own place to be. You having your family back, Cora being okay, that’s a hell of a lot more important to me than a place.”

Derek hugs him hard. “You are amazing,” he says.

“So are you,” Stiles says, and pokes him in the ribs. “Going behind my back like that. What was your plan? Since I doubt it was for Cora to beat him to death.”

“No, Chris was going to take care of it. Cora just got there first, and Chris didn’t want to take the shot and risk hitting her.”

“You. Working with Chris Argent.” Stiles shakes his head and grins. “The times really are a-changing. “

“Someone has to look out for you,” Derek says, smirking.

“Oh, and that’s you, is it?”

“Yep. Now go make me breakfast.”

Stiles laughs. “Okay. Preferences?”

“Waffles?” Derek asks hopefully.

“Sure,” Stiles says, and heads into the kitchen. He has some baking to do, too. He likes to have a variety of cookies available when the alpha pack arrives. He bribes them shamelessly and everyone knows it and gets a kick out of it.

The smell of food draws everyone into the kitchen. The waffles are best fresh, so they squabble and arm wrestle over who gets to eat first. Stiles ignores all of them and dishes things out as he pleases. Boyd gets the first plate, with a bottle of syrup, and Lydia gets the next, with strawberries and whipped cream (from a can, because he has limits). Cora and Derek get what comes out next, and then Erica and Isaac, and then he allows the remaining pack members to descend like, well, wolves.

To mollify those who don’t get waffles right away, there’s some ham and scrambled eggs, both of which are easy and quick, and plenty of summer fruit. Nobody really has any complaints.

Cora’s a little quiet, subdued, and she accidentally breaks a chair when she gives Derek a friendly punch to the shoulder and knocks him over. Her eyes flare red occasionally as she struggles to get used to the power she’s gained, and sometimes she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She gives Stiles a sidelong look now and then, like she’s considering saying something, but she doesn’t. Stiles doesn’t say anything either; he wants to talk to Justin before Cora says anything.

Derek takes her for a run after breakfast, and Stiles gets busy baking. Justin’s message was about fifteen hours before, and although a flight from China will take a long time, they’ll probably arrive sometime that day.

In fact, he’s barely finished the first batch of cookies when his phone chimes and he gets another text from Justin. ‘Just landed. You still alive?’

‘yeah, sorry I didn’t reply last time,’ Stiles texts back. ‘I was asleep. All’s taken care of. Pick u up?’

‘nah we’re renting,’ Justin replies, and Stiles goes back to what he was doing. About twenty minutes later, he tells the pack where he’s going, and walks down to the main gate, leaving the inner gate closed but not electrified. They hardly ever bother to open that gate; it’s easier to just climb over it.

The alpha pack pulls up in a shiny pick-up truck. The twins are in the cab, with Ethan driving, and the rest of the pack is piled in the back with clearly no fucks given about safety or seatbelt laws. Justin hops out of the truck bed as it slows for the fence and gives Stiles a hand-clasp-back-slap-bro-hug. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Good,” Stiles says. “The rest of you can go on up to the house. Just climb over the fence, it’s not armed.” To Justin, he adds, “Walk with me?”

“Sure,” Justin says, waving to the others, then adds, “Yas, warm up the hot tub for me.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, eyes sparkling.

Once the truck is driving down the road and Stiles has closed and locked the outer gate, Justin says, “So what’s up? How many alphas are still around?”

“Three,” Stiles says.

Justin frowns. “That’s about two more than I would have expected,” he says, and then groans. “Shit, how am I supposed to give your pack members trials without looking biased as hell? Can a pack even _have_ three alphas?”

“Probably,” Stiles says, amused. “But that’s not it. First off, Fang, the were-human, decided he was sick of Duke’s pretentious bullshit and threw his lot in with me in exchange for a favor or two. So he’s still around here somewhere. Then there’s Cora.” He lets out a breath. “She’s an omega who was on our territory, and she killed Deucalion.”

“Good for her,” Justin says cheerfully.

Stiles snorts. “Well. I wasn’t sure what to do about her, so I thought maybe she could go with you. But it’s complicated.”

“When isn’t it, with you? You know, I could be in the Jacuzzi right now. I hope you appreciate everything I give up for you.”

“It’s my Jacuzzi,” Stiles says. “Well, Derek’s Jacuzzi. So you wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for me, now pay attention.” He lets out a breath and drops the joking tone. “Cora is Derek’s younger sister.”

Justin blinks. “I thought the rest of the Hales were dead.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else. She escaped from the fire and she’s been hopping around as an omega ever since. She spent at least three years in one of those hunter prison camps. She’s fucked up, Justin. I wasn’t sure what to do with her before she killed Duke, because she can’t stay here. She loves her brother but she hates me, because in her mind, I stole the Hale territory from her family. I mean, with time she’s getting over it, but . . . she needs a place where she can relearn what it’s like to have a pack, and she’ll never get that from me.”

“Well, she doesn’t sound any more fucked up than I was when Trevor gave me a chance,” Justin says, still cheerful. “It’s up to her, but if she wants to come along, I’m game. Seven’s a better number than six anyway. Gives us a tie-breaker when we can’t decide where to go on our down time.”

A lot of tension leaves Stiles’ spine. “Thanks,” he says.

“Hey, that’s how we do,” Justin says. “Give me a day to watch her to make sure I think it’ll work before you bring it up, and a chance to talk it over with the others,” he adds, and Stiles nods. “So she killed the infamous Deucalion, huh? How’d she manage that?”

“She beat him to death with my baseball bat.”

Justin snorts. “Shit, _nice_ ,” he says. “I like her already. What happened to JC?”

“Fang tore his throat out.”

“Cool. One less thing to worry about. No other survivors?”

“The witch killed Tsukiko and Felisha, and Allison and Chris Argent killed Ennis with a little help from my father.”

“Sounds like you sat back and let everybody else do the work this time,” Justin says.

“I supervised,” Stiles says. “They say being able to delegate is the sign of a good alpha and a healthy pack.”

“I’m not sure that applies to murder, but then again, why not?”

They’ve reached the house, and most of the alpha pack is still standing around out front, chatting with Stiles’ pack. Yasmin is there, having completely ignored Justin’s instructions. The only alpha he doesn’t see is Ethan, and after a quick glance around reveals that he doesn’t see Danny either, he decides not to ask. Justin exchanges greetings with his pack, mostly fist-bumps or handshakes but a hug from Erica. Stiles pulls Derek aside and says quietly, “He wants to watch her for a day to make sure, but it should be okay.” Derek nods and relaxes.

It’s loud and chaotic and everyone’s trying to eat all the cookies at once. Stiles chats with Ravinder about how things are with Mei, while Mei blushes and smiles, and Justin disappears up to the hot tub along with Yasmin and Erica. Stiles wonders about the logistics of that sort of sharing.

He doesn’t realize that he’s kind of side-eyeing the direction they’ve gone until Derek leans over and rubs a hand over his hair. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says.

“Huh? What?” Stiles replies, flushing pink.

“If you wanted to, you know.” Derek nods his chin towards the stairs. “With Erica and Yasmin.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles says, nearly having an aneurysm. “I don’t, uh, I’m not sure how that works with, uh, anything.”

Derek arches his eyebrows, amused, and then lifts his hands in surrender. “I don’t know, and I’m not interested in finding out. All I’m saying is that, should the occasion arise, I have no problem with _you_ finding out. Far be it from me to deny my alpha the American dream of two girls at once.”

A _lot_ of things are rising, and Stiles tries to redirect his thoughts before it’s too late. “Uh. Thanks.” He clears his throat. “I mean that, really. I know that it wasn’t easy for you to get used to the idea of me and Erica.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “but it’s okay now, isn’t it?” He nuzzles Stiles’ hair. “We’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Stiles turns and embraces him. “I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too,” Derek says, and hugs him back just as hard.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Cora lurks on the outskirts, but Justin must have explained things to the rest of the pack at some point, because nobody reacts much to her being an alpha. In fact, Ravinder pulls her aside and says he’s going to teach her how to meditate. He takes her out into the yard and burns some incense and talks in a quiet, steady voice, while her eyes are closed.

Stiles isn’t sure what’s up with that, but while he’s preparing dinner, Cora comes bounding inside. “Der! I did it!” she shouts, jumping onto him for a hug. “I did the full shift!”

“That’s awesome,” Derek says, hugging her tight, and Cora is smiling and bouncing and for the tiniest of moments, Stiles sees the eleven-year-old girl that Derek remembers, and it nearly breaks his heart. It reminds him that he still hasn’t dealt with all the people that did this to her. He might have dealt with Deucalion, but he’s not finished yet.

“Ravinder just, it seemed kind of stupid and healy-feely at first but then it was like – like talking to some inner part of myself that I had forgotten was there,” Cora continues to explain, and she’s almost chatty as she talks about what it’s like to be a wolf.

Derek waits until she’s done and then reaches out and grips Ravinder’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” he says.

“It was my genuine pleasure,” Ravinder says. He sniffs delicately and then says, “Curry?”

“Among other things,” Stiles says. “In deference to our widely traveled audience, I made steak tips and a bunch of different sauces.”

“Excellent,” Ravinder says.

They eat outside and run around and play wolf games, and it’s late by the time they go in. The alphas camp outside; Justin says they sleep outside a lot of the time and prefer that to all being crammed together in the guest room.

He wakes up to find an email from Chris about the incident at the prison camp and the murder of Liliana Santos. He absently tells everyone to order food if they want it, and then settles down in the study.

He starts at the beginning. So far the evidence points to the set of events as follows: Liliana Santos had attended the Conclave. She had found out about the prison camps. It had upset her. Somehow, she had obtained a position at one of them. She used that to free the prisoners that she personally felt did not belong there. Somehow, the Gutierrez family had found out she was responsible. They had gotten her husband out of town, killed her, and dumped her body. Then, when the police inevitably questioned the husband, they invalidated the alibi they had intentionally given him.

A lot of this has now been confirmed, because Chris is e-mailing from Tucson. Apparently he left the previous morning and flown to Arizona so he could meet with the husband, Rick.

According to Rick, his wife had indeed been upset by the concept of the prisons. They had talked about it and agreed to ‘check them out’. Rick knew one of the Gutierrez brothers from previous hunts, and he had finagled a job for Liliana there as a security guard. But he says that she had no idea she was going to free a bunch of the prisoners. They had discussed it and agreed it was too risky. Apparently, Liliana had decided to take the risk.

Chris has gotten a detailed description of the hunting trip from Rick, who swears that Francisco was with him basically the entire time. It’s not much to work with, but there’s a little – a motel in Williams, a gas station and a fast food joint in Kingman. Stiles calls his father and they get to work.

It’s not much, but it’s enough. Stiles finds security footage of Rick at the gas station the same day his wife was killed, within an hour of her estimated time of death. It’s nearly a six hour drive between Kingman and Sierra Vista, the small town where the Santos family lives. Not only does it prove beyond a doubt that Rick is innocent, it also proves that Francisco lied to the police about his alibi.

Stiles gets on the phone with his father, who gets on the phone with the police in Sierra Vista, and Rick Santos is released from prison before Chris’ plane back to Beacon Hills has taken off.

Now the hard part: what to do about her real killer?

 The evidence proves Francisco Gutierrez lied to the police, which will certainly cast suspicion on him, but it also proves that he couldn’t have done it, because he was in Kingman with Rick. There are a lot of possibilities about why Francisco might have lied, but none of them will be enough to charge one of his brothers with murder. The police investigation will almost inevitably run into a dead end, especially now that six months had passed while they were focused on the wrong subject.

Stiles is still thinking about this when Derek pokes his head into the study. “Hey. You’ve been shut up in here all day. Come get some fresh air.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says, pushing a hand through his hair.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Okay! This installment of TSOIP now officially draws to a close! It's been fun!

 

After a metric ton of Chinese take-out, they’re all lazing around the yard, drinking tea. The moon is nearly new, so none of them feel particularly energized. Justin gestures for Stiles to walk with him, and Stiles drags himself back to his feet. Derek sees them, and then he gets up and follows. Stiles twines his fingers through Derek’s as they head to the other side of the house.

“So I talked it over with the others and everyone’s cool,” Justin says. “Derek, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Derek’s quiet, but then he nods. “She needs a pack,” is all he says.

“Okay,” Justin replies. “Does she even know what we do?”

“Yeah, we told her about that,” Stiles says. “And I mean, she doesn’t exactly seem to be having any problems with have killed Deucalion. She seems pretty chill about it.”

“Sometimes it hits you later,” Justin says, and Stiles nods, because he knows that well. “But okay. Let’s see what she thinks of the whole idea.”

“I’ll get her,” Derek says, and heads back to where the others are sprawled out. He comes back a minute later with Cora in tow, looking uncertain and even a little shy. Derek looks at Stiles, who nods at him to indicate that he should be the one to explain to his sister. He reaches out and squeezes her hand. “So, we’ve been talking about where you’re going to go long-term,” he says. “Not that I don’t want you here. I do. But . . .”

“But I’m an alpha now.” Cora looks at him, then at Stiles. “I could take my family’s territory back. It . . . it’s mine by rights.”

Stiles nods and says, “Yes, it is. And when you’re ready to take it, it’s yours. But how about I hang onto it for you in the meantime?”

Cora stares at him for a minute. “Really?”

“I told Derek the day I killed Peter . . . I never meant to steal something that was meant to be his. Or yours. I didn’t know it was going to happen. You can’t have my pack, Cora. They belong to me. But if building the Hale pack on this territory is something you want to do, that’s okay by me. But if you could wait a little while, that would be super, because I’ve spent the last month convincing all the nearby alphas that my pack _isn’t_ trying to make a move on anyone else’s territory. If you start building your own pack here, exactly nobody will believe me anymore.”

Cora makes a face at him, then heaves a sigh. “What did you guys have in mind?”

“The alpha pack,” Derek says, gesturing at Justin, “usually gains new members when they run across an alpha without a pack.”

“Really?” Cora directs this at Justin. She seems to suspect that she’s being pandered to.

“Truth,” Justin says with a nod. “It’s not always like that – the twins chose to leave their pack behind – but me and Yas and Ravinder, none of us had packs. Mei technically had one since she was from a family, but she was only thirteen, so she couldn’t actually run a pack at that point.”

Cora rubs a hand up and down her arm nervously. “Do you – what happened to you?”

“I got abducted and turned against my will by a psycho,” Justin says, not bothering to cushion his words or make it sound less bad than it was. “He had most of us brainwashed and strung out on drugs. I surfaced long enough to kill him, and half the betas who tried to protect him. Those that were left never would have followed me, so Trevor – he was the pack leader at the time – took me in. Yas got turned by a rogue alpha and then picked up for a beta harem. She killed the alpha who was running it.” He shrugs. “Ravinder’s family was all wiped out during some clan war in India. So yeah. It happens. And it’s not like there’s a set number of pack members we _need_ to have, but we don’t run across someone like you every day, so when we do, it’s usually a good idea to see if they’re interested. I already asked Fang, but he said he’d rather just head home.”

Stiles could kiss Justin at that, for making this sound like it was his idea, like he had asked Stiles permission to take Cora with him, rather than Stiles having asked him. Cora is softening up some. “Yeah, I could . . . I could go with you.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I don’t really have a place to go. And . . . it would be nice. To have a pack. Even if it’s not . . . the one I would have expected.”

“Cool.” Justin doesn’t make a big deal out of it. “Okay, rookie. Here’s how it works. When we hear about a new alpha, we go check them out. There are some trials to make sure they’re what an alpha is meant to be, some questions to make sure they’re treating their pack right. If they pass, great, everyone goes home happy. If they fail, usually we give them a stern lecture about why they suck and tell them we’ll be back in six months. If they _really_ fail, they’re killed. With me?”

Cora nods. “Yeah.”

“So it probably goes without saying that we’re not the most popular folks in the world. Most people understand the necessity, but not everybody. And sometimes people take exception to our existence, and pretty much all the hunters want to kill us because that gets them some shiny trophy, whatever. Still good?”

“Yeah,” Cora says again.

“I’m in charge, I’m the alpha of alphas,” Justin says. “What that means, practically, is that what I say goes. If you’ve got a problem with how I handle something, by all means, voice your opinion. But at the end of the day, you do as you’re told, because we’re safer together. Clear?”

Cora’s back has gone a little stiff, and Stiles grimaces, waiting for the inevitable hissing and spitting. But there’s a _reason_ why Justin is the alpha of alphas, a force of personality that can keep even the strongest wolves in line. Cora simply nods again and says, “Yes, sir.”

“Cool,” Justin says again. “We’re good. If you’ve got questions, talk to Ravinder. He knows more about all this stuff than I do, anyway.”

This gets him a tentative smile, and Cora nods again. “Okay.”

“I got an e-mail yesterday about a new alpha in Indonesia,” Justin says. “So we’re taking off soon. You got a passport?”

“I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“Okay. Smile!”

“Wha – ” Cora says, and then Justin is snapping a picture with his phone. Cora scowls at him.

“We’ll get you some ID. If you’ve got a middle name or a date of birth you want on that thing, tell Yas. Though we wouldn’t use your real date of birth. You’re twenty-one now. Happy birthday!” he adds, and Stiles gives a snort of laughter. “Anyway, we’ll be here a few more days while we wait for that, which is cool, it’ll give you some time to get to know everyone.”

“What kind of things is she going to need?” Derek asks, squeezing Cora’s shoulder.

“We travel light,” Justin says. “Obviously she’ll want some personal items, and definitely a good pair of hiking boots. We can go to some cold places, so a good winter coat isn’t a bad idea. A multi-tool like a Leatherman. And you’ll want a phone, I’m sure. We’re not always in a place with service, but you’d be surprised where you can find wi-fi these days.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “We can handle that. Anything else you’ll want?” he adds to his sister.

Cora shrugs. “I’m not using to having . . . things,” she says. “Maybe I’ll think of something.”

“Okay,” Derek repeats, pressing a kiss into the top of her head.

“C’mon, grasshopper,” Justin says. “You’re going out for a run with me and the gang.”

A hesitant little smile touches Cora’s face. “Okay,” she says, and accepts the arm that Justin slings around her shoulders as he heads back towards the others with her in tow.

Derek watches them go, a hint of melancholy on his face. Stiles squeezes his hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I’ll miss her, so much, but . . . what’s important is that she’s happy. And I know that Justin will protect her and keep her safe.”

“Okay.” Stiles stifles a yawn and rubs absently at his abdomen where the bullet scar is. “I think we should go inside and watch TV until I pass out.”

Derek laughs quietly. “Sounds good to me.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Mei is the one who figures out what to do about Fang. The were-human has been roaming on the preserve, seeming perfectly happy to get in touch with nature and be left alone. That’s fine with Stiles in the short-term, but another alpha on his territory will bother him long-term, particularly if he’s not there. But he has no idea where Fang is actually from.

Fang, being Fang, has no ability to describe it in geographical terms. He doesn’t even know what country he’s from, let alone have the ability to pin it down more specifically than that. From the way he describes it, it’s from somewhere far north of where they are now, with a lot of evergreens, and at least one river. There’s a lot of places in the world that match that description.

“Well, if there are wolves there, odds are that at least one of us,” Mei says, gesturing to the rest of the alphas, “has been there at some point.” She extends her claws and asks politely, “Would you allow me to view your memories?”

Fang blinks at her, then nods. Stiles watches in interest as Mei touches her claws to the back of Fang’s neck. He’s heard about this ability, but never seen it done. He can’t do it himself, or at least if he can, he doesn’t know how and has never tried. Mei is quiet for several long minutes while Fang and Stiles wait to see if she recognizes the scents and images that go along with Fang’s home. Then she pulls away. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize it. Ravinder?”

Ravinder nods and steps up next to Fang, copying Mei’s actions. He’s the oldest and most widely traveled of the alpha pack, so it doesn’t particularly surprise Stiles when he says, almost immediately, “Ah. Yes. I believe this is northern Canada. The Mackenzie River Valley.”

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not exactly _close_ , but at least it’s not on another continent. Not that he particularly has time to drive all the way up to Canada, when college starts in ten days, but he supposes he’ll have to find a way.

“We could head in that direction,” Justin says, as Ravinder pulls away. “We’ve got nowhere to be until Cora’s papers come in, and we can cross the Canadian border as wolves easily enough.”

Stiles blinks at him. It’s a solution he hadn’t anticipated. “You sure? I don’t want to dump it on you.”

“Nah, we’re cool,” Justin says. “Fang killed JC, so by all rights we owe him a pretty big favor. And it’s probably a good idea to give Cora a week or so to get used to us before we start getting on eighteen hour plane rides and testing alphas together anyway. A road trip is just what she needs.”

Fang nods. “This is acceptable to me.”

“We can leave in the morning,” Justin says.

Stiles hesitates, then says, “Can you give me one more day? I’m finishing some stuff up that I’d like Cora to be here for.”

Justin’s eyes flash. “Those hunters?”

“It’s not what you’re expecting,” Stiles says.

Justin barks out a laugh. “When is it, with you? Okay, we’ll stay another day. Twist my fuckin’ arm, why don’t you?”

“On that note, I have a meeting to get to,” Stiles says. “Thanks for your help.” He waves at them, and then heads back into the house to collect Cora and Derek. They pile into the Jeep and head to the Argent household. Cora isn’t happy to be there, and scowls a lot, but she visibly thaws when introduced to Rick Santos. He decided to fly back to Beacon Hills with Chris, so he could meet Stiles.

Stiles shakes his hand and brushes off Rick’s profuse thanks for getting him out of jail and proving his innocence. He brought a sweater belonging to his wife and gives it to Cora. She scents it cautiously and then nods, tears welling up in her eyes.

It’s confirmation that they don’t need, really, but Stiles is still glad to have it. And Cora wanted to do it, which surprised him. She wanted to thank the husband of the woman who was killed saving her life. They sit down together and have coffee and Rick tells Stiles and Cora about Liliana, about how compassionate she was, and how she became a hunter to protect innocents, how it had gnawed at her to find out that many of the hunters didn’t believe in the same principles.

He shows them pictures of Liliana with their daughter, who’s been staying with an aunt while Rick was in jail. He’s headed to pick her up after this. Stiles takes a few of the pictures for his own uses, and they say goodbye.

“What are you going to do?” Chris asks him quietly. “We have no way of knowing which of the Gutierrez family is responsible for what happened to Liliana, and no way to prove it.”

“I know,” Stiles says, and tells Chris what he has in mind.

Chris lets out a breath. Then he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

“By the way,” Stiles says, “I know it was almost nine years ago and all, but I’d still really like to know which hunters Kate was working with at the time of the fire. It seems that Peter Hale missed a few people, and, well. I’d hate to see it go unanswered.”

Chris chews on this for a minute and then says, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, shakes his hand, and heads back to the den.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Mac pokes her head into the study, where Stiles is ostensibly packing up books but has been distracted by reading them instead, and says, “Hey! Danny and I are finished. You wanna come take a look?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Stiles slaps the book shut and jogs down the stairs to find Danny sitting in the pit by the fireplace with his laptop. He drops onto the cushions next to him as Danny turns the laptop so he can see.

The heading of the webpage reads ‘A Memorial to Liliana Santos’, and the web design duo has made magic out of the script that Stiles wrote and the pictures that Rick Santos had given them. The poignant story is peppered with pictures of Liliana with her daughter, Liliana on her first hunt, Liliana and her two younger sisters.

Those aren’t the only pictures, either.

Stiles takes the laptop and gives the entire page a thorough read. He had gone over the script with his father, with Chris Argent, with Allison, with Derek and Cora, with Dr. Deaton, even with Gwen. He wanted it to have as much of an impact as it could. He can practically recite it in his sleep, but he reads it anyway, one more time.

“On Wednesday, February eighth, 2014, Liliana Santos was murdered.

“She was a daughter, a mother, a sister, a wife, and a hunter.

“Born Liliana Ramirez in El Centro, California, Liliana wanted to be a hunter from an early age. She was accompanying her father, Hector, on hunts by the age of twelve, mostly for chupacabras and the stray omega. She was excellent at what she did, a dead shot, and a steady hand. Any hunting party was glad to have her along.

“Liliana became a hunter because she wanted to protect the innocents that were hurt by the monsters hiding underneath beds. She didn’t know that she was joining up with the monsters.

“In June of 2013, Liliana found out about the prison camps.

“You all know the prison camps I’m talking about. You’ve all heard the rumors. There are three. One in Vermont, one in Wyoming, and one in Arizona. Mostly they contain werewolves, along with the occasional vampire, ogre, or troll.

“Did you know there are humans there?

“Did you know there are _children_ there?

“This is Cora.”

Inserted at this point are two pictures of Cora, before and after shots. From one of the photo albums that was salvaged from the fire, Stiles has taken a picture of eleven-year-old Cora, laughing, wearing a little sundress with flowers on it. The other picture was taken two days after she showed up on the den’s doorstep, gaunt and sullen and afraid. It was a picture she had allowed Derek to take a few hours after her fight with Stiles, because he wanted to paint her.

“Cora was eleven when her family was killed by hunters, without provocation or cause. [Verified by two independent sources.] She got away, ran and didn’t stop running. Until she was captured by hunters three years ago. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just trying to survive. But she was a werewolf, and that was reason enough for the Gutierrez family, who imprisoned her at the age of fifteen.

“Cora has been drowned, strangled, and electrocuted. She’s been poisoned and drugged. She’s been starved and isolated. She has no idea how long she was inside the prison camp, and we have no way of knowing. She was allowed no way to keep track of the time. She was allowed no books, no pictures of her family, no personal effects of any kind. She was allowed no contact with other prisoners.

“She was, however, allowed to watch them die.

“During her time in the prison, Cora estimates she saw up to forty other werewolves murdered during the experimentation. Some of them were young. Some of them were old. Some of them were omegas. At least one of them was an alpha. None of them, as far as we know, did anything to deserve execution.

“Cora is free because of Liliana Santos.

“Liliana found out about the prisons. She investigated. She found out that children were being kept there, the innocents that she had always tried to protect. She found out that any werewolf captured on a hunt was imprisoned, regardless of whether or not they had ever hurt anybody else. And Liliana got angry.

“Over the course of three days, Liliana manufactured opportunities to rescue forty-three people from the prison.

“Two days after Cora’s escape, Liliana’s body was found in the desert. She had been shot twice in the back of the head. From the clothes she was wearing and the gear she was carrying, it appears she was prepared for a hunt.

“Someone lured Liliana into the desert on the pretense of a hunt, and executed her. They shot her in the back without honor or mercy.

“Rick Santos is a widower now. Sheila Santos has lost her mother. Because Liliana wanted to protect innocents. She risked her life to protect innocents, and she paid for it with exactly that.

“The police naturally investigated Rick for Liliana’s murder. Rick was devastated by his wife’s death, but it never occurred to him that he would stand accused of it. After all, he had a rock solid alibi. When his wife was murdered, he was six hours away, hunting down a rogue omega in Kingman, with his friend, Francisco Gutierrez. He told the police this, and they went to Francisco to verify Rick’s alibi.

“And Francisco lied.

“Let me reiterate that: Francisco Gutierrez lied to the police and told them that Rick Santos had left their trip early, and that he had not been with Rick at the time of Liliana’s murder. He did this knowing that Rick would inevitably be accused, jailed, and probably convicted of a murder which he did not commit.

“Below is a video from gas station surveillance cameras. The time-date stamp has not been altered, and it has since been used to exonerate Rick of Liliana’s murder. It proves not only that Rick could not have killed his wife, but that Francisco was with him at the time, that Francisco lied to the police and framed his comrade-in-arms for a murder that Francisco very likely knew he was innocent of.

“So who killed Liliana Santos?

“I don’t know.

“The only person who knows is the person who invited her out into the desert, shot her in the head, and left her body there for the crows and coyotes.

“Here’s what I do know: Liliana Santos was a hero. And her murderer should answer for what he or she has done. And until we as a brethren start asking questions and demanding accountability, that is never going to happen.

“There are monsters under all our beds, in all our closets, in all our nightmares.

“Whoever killed Liliana Santos is the worst monster of all.”

Stiles lets out a breath and sits back slowly. “It looks great, guys,” he says, sincerely. The page is simple in layout, reads well, and the pictures are perfectly placed, emphasizing the points without taking away from the story. “Is it up yet?”

Danny shakes his head. “We’ll upload it now that we have your final approval.”

“And nobody will be able to track it back to us?”

This is vital in Stiles’ opinion. He’s considered an outsider, of course, and even Chris Argent is viewed with suspicion by many of the hunters. He doesn’t want anybody to know that this call to arms is coming from him.

Mac shrugs. “Eventually, maybe, but it’d take a _lot_ of work. We paid for the domain with a Visa prepaid card, which we bought with cash, and we’re using a dynamic IP that’ll bounce around a few times before everything gets uploaded. You can use the same method to send the email, and we’ll create a throwaway email address at that ten-minute-mail website for you to do that from. I made sure to scrub all the data from the photos. I’m not saying it’s impossible. Rule one of being a hacker is acknowledging that there’s always someone out there better than you. But it sure wouldn’t happen any time soon.”

“Good,” Stiles says, with a nod. He doesn’t care if he gets outed as the author of the article eventually, as long as the ball is rolling by then. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

It takes less than five minutes. Mac gets the files uploaded. The webpage looks perfect. Danny gets him the email address. Stiles has gotten an extensive contact list of hunters from Chris, along with a bunch of Druids that Deaton knows, a dozen or so professionals from Gwen and Keith Kolenberg, Derek’s lawyer, and, after some thought, every werewolf that Stiles has ever dealt with. He wants the werewolves to know about this, too. He wants them to know that there are hunters on their side, hunters who are willing to risk their lives for werewolf children. All told, there are nearly two hundred names on the blind-copied list.

It’s a drop in the bucket, but he knows how rumors work in the supernatural world, and he’s pretty sure that this is going to go quietly viral by the end of the day. The Gutierrez family is going to have a lot of explaining to do.

The email itself is simple. The subject line reads ‘a tribute to our fallen sister-in-arms, Liliana Santos’, and then the text is the link to the website along with a few lines he’s written. ‘Who killed our sister, Liliana Santos, and why haven’t they answered for their crime?’

Stiles looks it all over one more time.

Danny and Mac both regard him solemnly. Danny says, “Stiles. We’re starting a war.”

“No,” Stiles says. “Liliana Santos started a war. We’re just making sure everybody knows that.”

He hits the send button and walks away.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Stiles doesn’t hear anything immediately about the email he had sent out. He doesn’t really expect to, not unless it’s from Chris, since hardly anybody knew he was the one responsible. So he focuses on the matters at hand, taking Cora shopping and packing up the last of their things.

Cora’s departure is difficult, although not as bad as it could be. Stiles thanks Justin again, and Justin just shrugs this off, and Stiles thanks Fang, who doesn’t seem to understand what he’s being thanked for. Derek just stands there and holds Cora for a long time before he finally lets her go. “You’re going to be fine,” he tells her.

“Of course I am,” she says, her tone scoffing, eyes shining brightly with tears. “If the twins leave me any of the cookies, anyway.”

Justin smirks. “Gotta learn to take what you want, when you want it,” he teases her. “Or you can just complain to Stiles. Stiles, the twins ate all the cookies you made us.”

Stiles shrugs. “Not my circus, not my monkey.”

Cora frowns at him. “The hell does that mean?”

“It’s a translation of the Polish expression for ‘not my problem’,” Stiles tells her.

“Why do you even know that?” Cora asks, exasperated.

Stiles gives her a crooked smile and says, “Because I’m Polish.”

Cora blinks. “. . . oh.”

Justin smirks and Ravinder chuckles quietly. Derek gives his sister one last hug, and then they pile into the pick-up truck. She waves, looking over her shoulder as they drive off, and Derek swings the gate shut after they turn out of sight. Stiles reaches out and squeezes Derek’s hand. “She’s going to be okay,” he says, and Derek nods. They head back to the house.

For the next six days, Cora calls home every day. Her conversations with Derek are brief, but he always seems to feel better afterwards. She tells him about the scenery and about the diner they ate at and about what the alphas have been teaching her. Then they get on the flight to Indonesia, and she says she’ll probably be out of touch for a while, that Justin says the cell service won’t be great, but she’ll call when she can.

It’s probably all well and good, because the next day is Sunday, and it’s the day they long ago set aside for their final, semi-permanent move. Most of their things have already been brought to their apartment in two or three trips over the past week that Stiles was only barely involved in. They’ve each got a few more things, an overnight bag and their laptops and weapons that they absolutely couldn’t do without.

They’re taking four cars, as each of their apartments came with one parking space. Stiles is bringing the Jeep, of course, and Derek won’t be parted from his Camaro. Lydia and Danny are bringing their cars as well. Mac wanted to bring her VW Beetle, but it’s not exactly practical, and she’ll be able to hitch rides to and from campus with Stiles. Danny will be able to drop Isaac and Boyd off at East Bay on his way to Berkley, and Scott and Allison will just use public transit to get to their campus, or ride with Derek on days he goes to the studio.

He’s got all their schedules worked out and entered into his phone, so he’ll always know where everyone is, and he’s got his school books and knows where his classes are and Boyd promises that he’s gotten the apartments well-stocked with food and drinks, and he’s about as ready as he’s ever going to be.

He sleeps at home that last night, with Derek curled up beside him. Everyone else is at their own houses, with their families, except Isaac, who’s staying at Scott’s as he usually does when he’s not at the den. They don’t have to leave _early_ – it’s only a two and a half hour drive, after all – but he wants time to get settled in, so they meet at the den at one o’clock, just after lunch.

Each family arrives with their pack member and parks outside the inner fence, so it’s quite a gathering they’ve got by the time everyone is there. Melissa tries to hug Stiles and Scott and Isaac all at once, squeezing each of them tightly. Stiles shakes Chris’ hand and is surprised when Victoria gives him a hug, too, without any sort of warning, and Allison smiles at her mother, leaning her head against Victoria’s shoulder. Stiles watches Boyd get swarmed by his younger siblings and Danny grinning at his parents as he tells them about how awesome it’s going to be, and Erica placating her father for the thousandth time that she feels _fine_. He sees his father and Melissa holding hands as Scott’s mother wipes away tears. Lydia’s mother is there, a little confused at all the fuss but so proud of her Stanford-bound strawberry blonde princess. Mac’s parents promise to take care of her car and not let her little brother touch it. Jake gets a hug from every single member of the pack, and Allison and Stiles promise to skype with him.

Derek locks the gate and hands the remote and a spare set of keys to Chris Argent, to watch over the property while they’re gone. Chris nods, his face serious, knowing what an honor and a sign of forgiveness that this is from Derek.

The pack starts piling into the cars. Isaac and Scott will ride with Stiles. Allison and Erica are going with Lydia. Mac and Boyd will ride with Danny, leaving Derek bringing up the rear by himself. He says he doesn’t mind, that the college kids should be together. Stiles goes along with it, because there will be a lot of rides back and forth, and he knows Derek won’t be alone for all of them.

“So,” Stiles says to his father, hefting his bag over his shoulder, “I guess this is it for a couple weeks.”

Tom gives him one of those huge bear hugs, and Stiles knows he’s crying, they’re both crying, but neither of them are going to mention it. “You be good,” his father says to him.

“Aren’t I always?” Stiles says with an innocent grin, and several adults groan. “Well,” he finally says, “if you need me . . . I’ll be in geology 101.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Where the Heart Is [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728534) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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